RFD Issue 135 Fall 2008 by RFD Magazine Gay

Winter 2008/2009 Celebrating nearly 30 years o f Gathering at the magical Breitenbush Hot Springs in Northern Oregon

Share your experiences o f being pan o f the Breitenbush Com m unity Send Submissions to submissions@rfdmag.org by November First

greatly appreciate his work. And he’s not disappearing on us, but will continue to advise through the Board and prepare the SMS years archives for Emory for which we are also grateful. At the time that the topic of Death and Suicide was chosen, the outlook for the continuation of RFD was grim. There was potential for this to be the final RFD. With a contin ued increase in expenses and a decrease in subscriptions, it has seemed at times that this publication is no longer sustainable, however relevant it may be. While other groups of Faeries around the country fan tasize about assuming the responsibilities, how RFD w ill exist in the future is in transition. A quarterly publication is no small undertaking - especially on a volunteer basis. (Below are a list of people interested in the future of the RFD and you can con tact them to volunteer creative, technical, or financial support through our website rfdmag.org or rfdgroups(§ yahoo.com). As we celebrate and mourn in the pages that follow, let us ponder our relationship to this magazine. Let us radiate grat itude that we get the privilege of sharing our lives with each other through the forum pro vided here. We continue to rely on the kind support you provide by subscribing to the magazine and encouraging your friends to do the same. In addition, as the world around us continues to move into the digital age, we need your involvement in help ing us determine how to use a combination of print and webbased media to do whatever it is that RFD does. Please fill out and return the SURVEY inserted in this issue. We want to hear from you what does RFD do for you? How impor tant is it to have a print copy as opposed to a w'eb-based journal/blog? RFD will continue to be a reader-written journal: we invite your submissions of all kinds, and also to consider how you might be a part of co-creating the next phase of RFD's life. Perhaps you might edit a sec tion, or layout a few' pages on an ongoing basis, l et us know. Send in that Survey. Online: www.rfdmag.org/survey

BTL: It's H arvest Time f o r RFD ! Rumors abound. Let's dispel them. Like many of our readers. RFD is harvesting its fruits and nurturing the seeds for next year's garden. We are evaluating where we are and where we need to be. Like many of our readers, like all prudent garden ers. like the USA (we HOPE!) in this crucial election year, we celebrate the past, breathe into the present, and put things into place for a vibrant future - all at once. Whatever the future holds, our community can find access to large chunks o f its past in the pages of RFD. Second only to The Advocate as the nation's longest-running queer pub lication. the 135 issues that have been printed over 35 years con tain a bridge to worlds the younger of us have never known and are scarcely recorded elsewhere. They have inspired, educated, challenged, and entertained. You have in your hands our 35th anniversary Issue #135. Yes, the subject “Roaming Frontiers of Death" is a bit dark, but rumors of our own magazine's demise have been greatly exaggerated (with a tip of the hat to Mark Twain). Death can bring rebirth in a new form, and we have lots of good news to share about that. 1) We are still here. 2) We have preserved an immensely rich history of rural gays, queers, and faeries for 35 years. 3) Our archives (including a complete set of back issues, plus our files and correspondence from Running Water years and before are now professionally archived at Emory University in Atlanta, and in exchange we have received a major influx of money which will help us move forward. 4) The lamented death of one of our founders, Stewart Scofield, who was eulogized in the summer issue, will bring additional funds. He generously remembered us in his will. 5) Three wonderful, energetic, creative, and inspired men, also involved with Destiny, are joining our circle and will be taking on major tasks for at least the next year. They are Matt Bucy, Bambi Gauthier and Michel DuBois. Welcome! While there is much to celebrate, there is also a tran sition to honor - the retirement from RFD of the dedicated Sister Soarni (aka Mish) after nearly 20 years of serving as pro duction manager and much more. Having kept this precious publication alive with a lot of assistance from a very few peo ple, Sister is moving into a time of inner reflection, and is releasing most RFD responsibilities to allow for others to shoul der the blissful burden of continuing this labor of love. We

Have a great Harvest!

l i e K l 'D C J L d t c the Hoard o f Directors o f RI D Press: Mountaine, Kwai, Branch, and Soami and the active circle o f volunteers: Cabby, Myrlin, Free, Boomer, B, Keith, Sylvan, Dazl, line, Christopher, Matt, Bambi, Michel (and a special thanks to /. arry(a times media, net, our kind and generous printer.) 1

RFD Fall 200X #135

Roaming Frontiers of D e a th vol

3 5 n o i # 1 3 5 A u t u mn 2.008 RID is a reader written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative lifestyles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expres sions of our sexuality, care for the environment, radical faerie consciousness, nature-centered spirituality, and share the experi ences of our lives. RFD is produced by volunteers. The business and general pro duction arc coordinated by a collective in and around Short Mountain Sanctuary, TN and on the working E.group site: r fdgro u ps@y a h o o . coni. Features and entire issues can be prepared by different groups in various places. Our printer is in Nashville, TN. RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 per year by RFD Press, POB 68, Liberty, TN 37095 615.536.5176 USPS # 073-010-00 Periodicals postage is paid at Liberty, TN and additional mailing offices.

Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, POB 68, Liberty, TN 37095 mail@rfdmag.org www.rfdmag.org Non-profit tax exempt #62-1723644, a function of RFD Press, with office of registration: 231 Ten Penny Road, Woodbury, TN 37190

C o n t e n t s Between the Lines..............................................................................1 Announcements & Letters & A d s ........................................ 3,49-52 Death and Suicide Feature.............................................................4-46 Introduction.................................................................................. 5-6 Reflections on a Suicide by MaxZine.....................................7-8 Plague Love Story by Dennis Dunnum..................................... 9-11 Death, Sanctuary, and Life by Leopard..................................12-13 Mother, Daughter, and Death by Chandra and W olfie.......... 14-17 Poetry by Wolf Israel, Steven Reigns, Lucius Day, Vine and Antler .......... 18-21 Suicide Tools by Doghood with worthless.................................22-24 Choosing to Heal by M ountaine............................................... 25 Fey Ancestors:Raven Wolfdancer & Michael Mason by Franklin Abbott, Randy Taylor, Jeff Glauser, & Billy Toth......................... 28-43 Ancestors Page Info by Mugwort.....................................................44 Pan Meadow Occurrence by Brian 'Goatboy' Thornton................... 45 Louise Coggins O b itu ary .................................................................46 Prison Page by Myrlin........................................................................47 Porn, RFD, & Me by middle...............................................................48 RFD I all 2008 #135

The records required by title 18 U.S.D. section 2257 and asso ciated with respect to this magazine (and all graphhic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 231 Ten Penny Road, Woodbury, TN 37190 C o v e r p h o t o g r a p h y I n M e m o r y o f E r i c G in m a n b y S t e v e n B a r a t z , a l s o f e a t u r e d in # 1 3 1 c o v e r, ifc & ib c , c e n te r f o ld d e s ig n b y V in e

Contributors Franklin Abbott.................................................................. 28-43 A n t l e r . ....................................................................................... 21 B l a k e ................................................................................6,8,13,20 By The W a y ............................................................................. 20 Rene C ap on e........................................................................... 8,20 Tsunami C aryl-Averlyn........................................................... 47 C a ssa n d r a ................................................................................. 7-8 Chandra........................................................... 14-16 Lucius D a y .............................................................................. 19 Chuck Touch' D o d s o n ............................................................. 1 D oghood.................................................................................. 22-24 Dennis Dunnum...................................................................... 9-11 Free ................................................................................................20 Luc Georges ........................................................................... 24 Larry Goodwin ........................................................................ ifc Christopher Hamblin ..............................................................5 Jack H a r v e y ........................................ ifc David H offnung........................................................................20 Wolf Israel . . ..........................................................................20 Jim Jackson............................................... 12-13 Jandek.......................... ....................................................... .... . 6 J i g g l e s .........................................................................................5 Leopard.................................................................................... 12-13 M a x Z i n e ....................................................... 7-8 James McGilton.........................................................................47 M i d d l e ....................................................................................... 48 John Cameron M itc h e ll......................................................... 21 M y r l i n ....................................................................................... 47 M o u n t a in e ................................................................................25 Mugwort........................................................................................44 Steven R e i g n s .........................................................................18 Leonard S c o v e n s ........................................ .47 Leo Sunshine/David Horste.............................. 3 Brian Goatboy T h o r n t o n .........................................................45_ Wolfie Silver-F ang......................................................... 14,16-17 Vine............................................................................... c,20,26-27

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KID Kali 2008 #135

Letters and A n n ou n cem en ts Greetings RFD, I'm a NYC Hells Angel sen tenced to life in prison, l or the last four years I’ve been organi/ing/outlining chapters for a book, and in spite of hav ing the associates degree, I feel unpre pared in my English composition to tell effectively my story. So I am seeking an individual with writing skills to assist and/or co-write the manuscript. I am not sure of your current fees for ads and am unable to establish such due to maximum security housing and limited real world accessibility. Please find S25 enclosed and run my announcement for as many times as that will allow and send me a copy of RFD with my ad in it. Thanks, James DeFrank Eos Lunas, NM

NYC Hells Angel seeking individual with writ-

I ing skills to assist with book. I will share funds upon comj

pletion. 1 am sentenced to Life in Prison. lames D e F ra n k # ^ o i4 PO Drawer 132.8 Los Lunas, NM 87031

(Ed Note: Thanks, David, for this powerful beginning to our Death & Suicide issue)

Dear RFD, Death haunts me. / don V really see dead people as much as I have long term relationships with them. I've lived the last half o f my life without parents or any o f the adults who raised me among the ranks o f the liv ing. Those were my "cancer & bro ken hearts" teen and college years. Then those were followed by the "AIDS years." / think o f my major personal mentors, as well as the fab ulous fags who inspired me through the windows in my closet door through the 80's and empowered me in the 90s, and it seems most are gone. AIDS

has

taken

approximately

250,000 gay men from us over the past 25 years and about the same number are living with HIV now. That number grows by about 17,000 new’ gay men infected a year in this country'. 5,000 or more gay men still die o f HIV each year. I remain nega tive and it's tough to stay positive. My mornings are all about the "u" in mourning. Good moUrning America, how are you? "Don't you know me I'm your native son...."

go weeks or months without even thinking about it, but that's rare. I hope that will change. I don't know if it ever will. I will die eventually any way and I find consolation in that. I fear suffering, but I think I'd embrace death rather easily. I've walked between both sides o f the veil and the veil is very thin. I have long term and intimate rela tionships with all my dead elders, gay and straight. / remember them. I talk to them. I seek their counsel. 1 cry' tears fo r them. I miss them. I'll be a designated mourner and I'll tell stories that celebrate their lives. Being open and honest about death, suicide, and our ancestors is a lot like coming out o f the closet. Terrifying and refreshing. I wrote an article fo r the Portland issue o f RFD (11128) called "Memento Mori", a genre o f artistic expressions the pur pose o f which is to remind us o f our mortality. I make jet mourning beads as a part o f my work as a lapidary artist. Jet is an organic gemstone, a fossilized wood related to lignite coal, that was used in traditional Victorian mourning jewelry. I work with jet to help heal my grief, to help others process theirs, and to honor our ancestors. My prayers are for the ancestor spirits o f the 60 million year old trees that transformed into this jet mineraloid, the fossil jiiel jewels I make fo r grief relief. I link those prayers to the ancestor spirits o f the Gay and Faerie elders I've known and the countless numbers I never got to know. Perhaps a quarter-mil lion men who were stolen from our community by plague. Mostly I make heart shaped beads o f jet and leave a part o f them with a natural broken surface, a flaw, or a break. Some o f my faerie friends who wear these call themselves "Leo Sunshine's Broken Hearts Club Band". I can make and mend broken hearts until the day I die. . . .

l first started seriously considering joining the ranks o f the dead when l was in 5th grade. Fear, frustration, self-loathing, shame, inadequacy, intense grief, and all assorted demons made me want to kill myself from about age 10 to 21. Then I came out o f the closet and wanted to live again. Yet life wasn't filled with many lively parties as / had to come out, ACT-UP, fight back, and fight AIDS. Silence equaled death. It also felt like sex equaled death, or at least the risk o f death. But I made a life, a big life, many lives, and then lost so much o f it. I made lots o f friends and lost many. It seems I've lost as many rela tionships with gay men in my life due to depression, addiction, and PTSD as I've lost to HIV. They're not dead, just forever changed. Lost in some way. This process repeated over and over through the 90's. Then I start ed wanting to die again, wishing I were dead, and thinking about killing myself. But in 30 years o f thinking about it I've never made an attempt. It's always been just a gauge o f how bad it hurts and how much I wish it would stop hurting. That feeling comes and goes in varying intensities at varying times. Sometimes for min utes or hours a day. Sometimes near ly every day, or days, or weeks, or months at a time. It's not ALL the time by any means. I've developed coping mechanisms. I f necessary, it's Regards, easy to remember a great number David V. Horste like 1-800-SUICIDE. Sometimes I'll (Faerie name, Leo S. Sunshine) Portland, Oregon

RED Kail 2008 #135

An Introduction to the Feature By Christopher Hamblin. Guest Editor First things first. I want to be absolutely clear. Making this magazine come to fruition has been absolute torture. I want to be talking about peace and love and harmony, and in a way 1 am. But my Spirit will not let me rest until I do something in this life to increase understanding o f the Suicidal Faerie. 1 w ish 1 had a different call in this life, but since childhood. I have had a very close relationship w ith the “dead.” struggled intensely with depression and suicidal thoughts, and have always been distractingly empathic. The combination of these gifts has culminated in the form of this magazine. It appalls me that we. the Blessed Ones, the Magic Ones, have been so intensely ostracized by this society that we consider and commit suicide. Not that any (much less every) suicide can be so simplified, but we, w ho have somehow agreed on the intention of cre ating and sustaining safe space for queer people, are still killing ourselves. We, who go to such extremes to protect our right to CONSCIOUSLY FEEL our lives, open ourselves up to feelings that we loathe so intense ly that we silence them (or attempt to) by taking the life out of our bodily vessels. The hurt I face most every day is often crip pling. I vacillate between empowerment and terror. But, as a friend said to me recently, the price of feeling is to experience pain. For years, I had lived my life under the illusion that accepting my pain would make it go aw'ay. This was more a form of rejection to the pain than of acceptance. In struggling to accept this dichotomy, I know' I am not alone. I see others—gifted, creative, sensitive people—whose gifts don't have a box to fit in for most of “the world.” But that's howr we find each other— jumping out of the boxes and into the Circles. One of our strongest bonds is that search for those who shine and vibrate above the roar. We who seek community do so out of intense passion and courageous need. I see us I “CanTWait fb GeHhTs Mask Off A Self-Portrait by Sean “Jiggles” Van Zant all, through words and deeds, screaming out for recog nition and understanding; and in the same dying breath, I see us rejecting our very hearts’ desires. I could place judgment and make blanket statements about why this is happening, but as you will see in the following pages, the diversity of experiences in this matter defies any concrete conclusion. As you read, I encourage and remind you to put aside fear and judgment in order to hear the humanity. In every story, in every photo, and every poem, a person’s life IS. They are ruminations on lives past, tributes, grief, lessons, danger, mysteries, people. I applaud the courage of my fellow contributors for burrowing into themselves and shoving their thoughts and experiences out and into language. Feelings as deep as ours do not fraternize easily with WORDS. From here to page 25, you can find writings and art submitted by readers and solicited by myself. Between pages 28 and 43, Franklin Abbott (and team) have put together a lovely tribute to the works of Michael Mason and Raven Wolfdancer. Then there’s all those unexpected things in the middle from people like, well. Middle, Goat, and Vine! On behalf of our Community, may I take a moment to thank you. May your work bear fruit. Oh. yeah. And, right now, I'm not dead. A bunch o f people helped make sure o f that. I am still mystified that I matter, but am very grateful that you remind me. 5

RFD Fall 2008 #135

r k

And now you are gone Were you here at all Do I awake from a long sleep Myself on my hands Tomorrow in the gallows Trees in the skies Empty alliterations replenished By the hand of one who would fall down And beg a light to shine somewhere What is this The cavalcade of misery What depths How could we think of distances Ah, it is the gift of man To live, the days long The nights longer Journey to the stars They worship the sun Come down treasure That I might perceive a smile On your lips as we meet On a journey to the stars

i knew you would leave by Jandek The rocks crumble Unto dust they die Once hard, stuff of mountains Now soft powder among the sand Who dares crush a rock Oh rock, no rock Reduced to the winds Scatter your parts You are not one but many To those shall you succumb Beast of time You hurl your heavens sporadic Falling in the great parade March unto your death And into what arms will you go Surely not your own Oh God of Gods be you my hope And all else ruffles in the winds Magic carpets Fly to your planets You have no place on earth Who is it creates sad soliloquy Is it everyone Nay, you are a heathen Erupting words of pretense Lord let my hand be guided Sometimes I know it not As the air, no air, is still And the weary sounds refrain Now the hyena cackles His clutch has found my heart bleeding Ki ll Fall 2<)08 #135

Tim ephobiam aniacalom as. D e a d & g o n e . F rid a y e v e n in g a t a p p ro x im a te ly 2 : 4 5 : 0 7 p m , tim e p h o b ia m a n ia c a lo m a s w e re fo u n d d e a d in th e ir tra c k s on th e G re e n w ic h M ea n T im e M e rid ia n . A u to p s ie s s h o w e d th e d is e a s e w ith g o rg e d in te s tin e s o f te a -fo r -tw o , riv e rb a n k stro lls , sm e llin g o f flo w e rs , d a y d re a m in g , & c a t-n a p s .

Â© 0 1 9 8 1 C O R W O O D IN D U ST R IES P.O. B O X 15375 H O U ST O N , TEXAS 77220 U.S.A A word from the (guest) editor: I WOULD LIKE TO EXPRESS IMMENSE GRATITUDE TO CORWOOD INDUSTRIES FOR THE USE OF THIS M A T E R IA L , AS THE DEPTH OF ITS POETRY EXPRESSES THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ILLUSIONS OF SEPARATENESS A N D FORM THAT TRANSCEND LANGUAGE A VAILABLE TO MYSELF. PLEASE CONSIDER THIS SONCPOEM A N ADDENDUM TO M Y PERSONAL CONTRIBUTION.

The reader is encouraged to visit

www.rfdmag.org to hear the song performed by Jandek Oorwood's sole recording artist. Please also support Corwood by w riting to the above address for an *$ CP: is on the album 6

Six and Six.

7 Knew

You Would le a ve "

R e f l e c t i o n s on A S u i c i d e By M axZin e A little over ten years ago our beloved housemate Earth took his own life here at Ida. It shocked, saddened, and undermined our sense of well-being as a community of friends. It also drew us together as we assisted each other through our grief, intrusions by the authorities, and communications with his family. Earth had been feeling depressed throughout much of the preceding winter. He talked about this at Ida family meetings and people were trying to figure out how we could be more supportive of our friend, which was dif ficult as he often closed himself in his room and wanted to be alone. As winter gave way to spring Earth came out of his shell more and became more socially active. He was smiling more frequently. The day Earth took his life was a gorgeous day. He was in a great mood all day. It was early March and we spent much of the day gardening together, a lot of it weeding and mulching beets and carrots. I brought a tape player out to the garden for music and he went and grabbed some of his music to put on. 1 remember him dancing around the garden with a shovel in his hand to the music of Stevie Wonder. That night we had a late dinner and Earth didn’t show up. Since it was late and we had been busy all day people guessed he was tired and had fallen asleep. We decided not to bother him. When Earth did not show up the next morning we became quite concerned. We called our friends and neighbors and searched for him for a cou ple of days. A group of us were sitting in the sun, tired and stressed, when we heard screaming. Someone had found his dead body in a cave, burned to death. Our neighbors and friends from Short Mountain and the surrounding area called to offer condolences and offer to help in any way possible. People offered to bring over meals and attend a ceremony. When we were asked what we most needed, nobody really knew but we men tioned that chocolate would be nice.

We could not welcome our friends over until we first endured a police investigation. The local sheriff showed up with a sidekick from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation (TBI) and told us nobody could leave the premises until they scaled the area and determined if there had been any “foul play.” More police cars showed up. Our dogs ran out to bark at the strangers and one of the policemen sprayed pepper spray at a dog, which at the time seemed like a horrible insult in the midst of our grief. We complained to the sherift'and he assured us he would instruct the deputies not do that again. We had lost our friend and the police had taken over our home and we had to draw the line somewhere. They took the body away and questioned us individually. They combed over Earth’s room and asked us to explain things in his room that seemed odd to them. This included Earth’s altar, with lots of objects from nature (something the police were not accustomed to viewing). There was a drawing prominently displayed. It depicted someone being carried away in flames (just like Earth had gone). The sheriff asked me what that meant and I nearly lost it. “What do you think it means?” 1 near ly shouted the question at him and asked him further if he could see any resemblance to what had just happened w ith our friend. It took all of our reserves to stay strong while dealing with the police. The TBI guy actually told some of us early on that he didn’t see any signs of foul play but they still had to investigate. He indicated that he could tell we were a very caring group and he and the sheriff said they were sorry that we lost a friend. 7

RI DKali 200X#135

Ironically, the most painful communication came in the form of an internet discussion on a faerie list-serve where someone wrote that they couldn’t understand what was wrong with the Ida community that we hadn't pre vented a suicide. This was infuriating in so many ways. The 'FBI was nicer to us then some internet pop-psycholo gist queers. Barth’s mom told us that Ida was the First great home for him, meaning it wras the First place he had truly been comfortable and most supported for who he was. She thanked us. Those words helped us to remember the Barth we loved, the one who was a super-cute actor as the tour guide in our pre-millenial play, Dial M for Mothership. We will never forget his pink-triangle hairdo and zaniness as he led the way through the Ryan White Innocent Victim’s Bounge. It is difficult to go through a suicide and not ques tion yourself: Could 1 have done more? More than one professional psychologist that we talked to said probably not. They explained that often times a person decides to commit suicide when they are depressed, but do not have the will to carry it out. Apparently it is common for indi viduals to take their lives after they have made it through severe depression and are feeling better. This is because they find the will to go through with what they had decid ed a long time ago. We had a large memorial service for Earth out in the woods by the creek. Many friends attended and they brought lots of amazing food and obscene amounts of chocolate. I saw people cry who I had never seen cry before. We were fortunate to not feel alone as we pre pared to go on with our lives. When I was asked to write this story, I was asked to discuss what we did learn. I’m not sure that I know w'hat can be learned from having a friend take their life. One thing is clear: DO NOT commit suicide at a place where your family or loved ones live. A suicide automat ically invites a police takeover of the scene, and that is the last thing people who are grieving need. Of course, do not judge a situation without having adequate information. Oh, and maybe be a little more gentle and loving with friends and family. It is a harsh world. Finally, chocolate rocks, but it is not the most calming substance.

Photos of Earth by Cassandra B rokenheartsclubdysphoria.

Nevermore. Familiar to former romantics whom experienced senses of completeness by the forces of love, Brokenheartsclubdysphoria had known symptoms of loss, regret, resentment, & bitterness towards love with paradoxical desires for future heart-felt intimacies. Caused by sudden heart severances, Brokenheartsclubdysphoria can be experienced by any human with no known predisposition to mind/body dysphorias.

We still miss you Earth.

RI D l ull 2008 #135

mm |

A L o v e S t o r y f r o m the P l a g u e b y D e n n is D u n n u m He was dying. When the second lung col lapsed a week after the first he knew he couldn't face more tubes and more drugs and more attempts to keep his brittle body vital enough to hold his spirit any longer. He had never been all that sure of any of the drugs and procedures over the past two years but each step had seemed such a little thing to do to stay alive - whatever that meant at that moment. This, he now knew, was not 'living'. The final decision was not all that hard to make. In the final analysis, when you're right up against the dividing line, there didn't seem all that much difference between life and death. He was grateful for the friends he had around him now - the “bupe troupe" who had spent the last w'eeks filling the endless syringes with buprenex, saline and heparin. All those marvels of modem chem istry that kept his hurting mortal shell from shutting down on its own. But.... They had gotten him to this point and were probably worth it for that. He felt an ineffable calmness now. He had his troupe call his many friends and relatives all over the country - they sat and explained all the medical details; all the morbid facts that everyone needed to reassure themselves that he really was leaving and all the options had been explored and rejected. Once they were satisfied w'ith the facts then he would take the phone - expressing his earthy love for them one last time, asking forgiveness for old hurts, arranging to meet later on the other side or sharing one more intimacy. Some wanted, still, to dissuade him, urg ing him to squeeze one more battle from his frail self; he was quietly amazed at how easy it was to lovingly turn those arguments aside. Some few he allowed and encouraged to make the physical journey to be with him one last time, if they’d hurry. He could sense the subdued mood among those gathered in the house - he was glad of the black humor his loved ones defended their hearts with. Death is so fucking serious - more so for them than him, at this point. The week moved on - his personal goal was to exit by the weekend - he wasn’t totally sure how this would be accomplished but he knew it would be. He had dis cussed the OK-ness of his friends helping him get through on many occasions, individually and with groups of them. He really didn’t feel like talking about it now, though - it was just happening. Time will tell. Time...how strange that concept had become. Sleeping and waking had assumed a pattern specific to his own tight little universe but he kept one feeble finger on the

pulse of the larger world outside his room - like he knew it was a Wednesday, for what that was worth. Some of his friends would be going off to work, returning in the evening. He knew' they knew he’d still be there when they got back; it was close, but not that close. It was actually the first time in a long time he felt in some con trol - or maybe it was the first time he didn’t feel ’out of control’. His mom arrived as did several cherished friends and one who was actually more insistent than cherished. While death is certainly the most personal event of our lives it doesn’t happen in a vacuum, either. Whatever this friend needed by being there he didn’t feel like he had the right or the strength to debate or turn him aside. He realized there were many mundane details he needed to attend to. He called in the friend he had appointed his power of attorney and executor of his estate. It was comforting to know that this man knew what he wanted to do with his material stuff and, in fact, even with his physical self should he be unable to express himself at some point. I le had even outlined what kind of a memorial service should happen. He had carefully instructed the entire group of 10 friends who would be there at the transition how to proceed in the hours immediately after he was gone.

Rl I) Fall 200X #135

what he wished now. Two of them admitted that on the previous night each of them had surreptitiously crimped the air hose of the oxygen concentrator causing it to make a fearful noise but ultimately having no effect on his continued existence. They said that once they had begun talking amongst themselves they realized that if this was truly what he wanted then it needed to be stated clearly to them and agreed to by all who were present. He, after all, would leave and they would remain to deal with the reality of having committed an awesome deed without clear instructions and without the support of the others. He realized the rightness of what they were telling him and he labored to overcome his weariness and testiness to satisfy them. He said he did want their help. It was difficult for him to spell out the details of what he wanted them to do but he strained to devise a plan that would work. They helped him think and ques tion until together they decided to administer an unhealthy dose of morphine every 15 minutes until he was dead. He barked at them when they made him repeat his instructions a second time but he knew they needed his reassurance. He added that he did not want to see tomorrow’s sun and he truly didn’t. It was time and he was impatient. He felt he had been kept here long past the original deadline - perhaps he should have left a year and a half ago with the first round of pneumonia or when they’d saturated his body with poison to kill the bacteria destroying his brain or when they had sucked out the fluid squeezing his heart to a standstill. It was time to stop; get off this train hoping there’s another to board; we all believe there is and have to find out even tually. It was time to trust, or at least, accept the fact that one can’t stay on this train forever. Tonight. Anyone who wanted to went in and had their last moments with him. He was as loving as ever but also as irreverent. This was serious but let’s not get overdramatic - and he was entitled to share in the black humor - the lightness of darkness - that had returned to the group.... and he did feel, once more, that he was part of this group, not separate as he had been feeling for the last few days. They were all family now and focused on one task. That feeling lightened the anxiety and ordered much of the confusion and frustration he’d felt when he’d been trying this on his own. Most of the medical stuff was taken from the room - the props not necessary anymore. This vessel WAS going to be launched - floating on the surface is not the only criteria for seaworthiness. One of the women re-lit the candles. He looked around at his family - peo ple he'd grown with, worked and played with, fucked.... lived with. Life had been an amazing experience so

On Thursday evening he felt that perhaps it was time. There was a fleeting irritation at how little practice one gets in this culture to prepare for this moment. It’s such a dramatic scene and it has to be so extemporane ous. Everyone gathered at the bedside - the room was thick with the unspoken, seeming to form a haze around the candles that softened the hard edges of the IV poles, trays and trays of medications, needles, swabs, diapers - all the tools the culture brings to prop up the hulls of the no-longer-seaworthy vessels on its farthest shore. He was tired and a little anxious and something like confused............... but mostly tired. He had thought he had made all the required good-byes - there was no sense in dragging this out. He had requested a pretty heavy dose of morphine and he flo u ted between the worlds fo r quite a while before sliding into a peace f u l serenity. He sensed, but couldn’t grasp with any rationality, that there were things going on just outside his shrunk down universe - but inside there was heaven ly quiet, no time, no space, no pain. Awareness came slowly - like Jell-0 thickening; floating gave way to lying; nothingness to a congealing of light and dark places; all-sound for no-sound) con gealing into lumpy voices. Am I dead? Ascertaining that seemed the first order of priority or the first priority of order because it was becoming apparent that there was ’order’ emerging. The sounds and forms were beginning to pattern in familiar ways and he began to understand that he was back where he had started. He was still ’here’; he hadn’t died. Feelings started welling up from depths he couldn’t fathom - disappointment, anger, frus tration. As his body began to catch up with his aware ness the familiar numbing, all-encompassing pain joined the melange of emotions. What had happened? Or, what hadn’t happened? Why was he still here? He drove everyone from the room - he was unbelievably weary He drifted in and out of consciousness. His friends came and went from his bedside continuing their ritual attendance - faceless drones ministering to the lethargic queen - continuing what was familiar; unable or unwilling to alter the program but knowing something had changed. A full day and night passed. He was totally self-absorbed - observ ing the endless procession of feel ings while he was more or less awake and taking refuge in long periods of sleep. He had spoken briefly with sev eral of his friends but without much enthusiasm. So it was exasperation he felt when his room filled rather sud denly with the entire population of his small world. They were unclear, they said, about what he wanted of them. While he had spoken with some of them at various times of helping him die, they did not know if that is RID Fall 2008 #135

far.... he saw no reason that should change now. It was time to begin. He felt the familiar softening as the first injection coursed up the line into the vein leading to his heart then gently diffuse through his body. His friends, his mom, grew furry and then melded into each other until they became one soft. warm, loving circle of famil ial energy surrounding and enveloping him; holding and giving form and direction to his spirit that now began looking around - looking for the way out that must sure ly be there. The colors were fantastic, the landscape familiar and yet. not - much like the acid trips of the 70's. Sometimes he flew, more often he walked but without feet, moving slowly and without fear, knowing there was a door and that he'd find it. The soft voices of his friends hummed around him offering encouragement, direc tions.... (please, no more reminders about the light!).... but mostly love and the assurance that they were still there with him. There was no time here, only color without form,.... movement without motion,.... and peace....but it was a peace with a purpose - there was always the sense of purpose - he wasn't done, yet. He couldn’t just sit and enjoy this space. At last he saw what he was searching for - the door - it wasn’t really a door, like with a knob, it was a hole and a small one at that sort of like what your asshole must look like from the inside, or a womb. The walls around it were soft, warm and strong, red and velvety. It wras not dark here but he could tell it was very bright on the other side. For the first time he felt a little hesitation. The hole looked awfully small and it was SO bright on the other side. He was not sure he could do this. Just when it looked like fear might become panic he felt the love of his family begin to caress his being, coating him with smoothness eliminating all the angles and sharp points of his old body. He leaned into the opening and felt wave after wave of contractions - spasms drawn from the pain of separation and the joy of hope, both his and theirs. As he slid through in his new form he heard behind him the screams and laughter of his midwives - Go, Larry, go! We love you! His absence was a palpable thing in the room. We cried and laughed and screamed into pillows, held each other until we had exorcized the moment and could go on. He had told us we were to do nothing until each and evety one o f us was OK. There was such a love jest that afternoon. Following orders, some o f us began call ing other friends to come to the house. Others washed his body and arranged him on his bed strewn with rose petals, as naked as he had come into the world, his arm around his Hobbes tiger doll. We went and laid with him from time to time, feeling the drawing away o f life from not-life, feeling the

soft warm ness o f our living flesh against his increasing coolness and rigidity, watching with fascination as pink became grey. We had participated as intimately as it is possible for others to participate in this, the most per sonal o f experiences; we had walked and loved him to the very gate and helped him through. In the hard and clumsy language o f our culture. we had killed himself and we were determined to stay with him as participants in the awesomeness and finality o f the deed, willing per petrators and victims, both, o f mutual love. People streamed in and out o f the house all day long. We kept him home until the next morning. The cre matory came for him then and agreed they would cre mate him right away because he had not wanted to be put in a cooler - they really were quite cooperative, con sidering. They delivered the box o f his ashes the follow ing morning - they were still warm. Those o f us still around broke into a chorus of, "Nothin 'says lovin 'like somethin ’from the oven ", bathing our hurting hearts in laughter. We rubbed him into our skin, tasted him on our lips, dissolved him in our tears - intimacy as easy and compelling as it always had been. We had loved him to death .

Photos Courtesy o f Dennis Dunnum 11

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with our angers, sadness, defensive posturing. Some people are pushed hard, often the ones who are struggling the most. death, sanctuary and life Thankfully, we mostly learn to forgive each By Leopard other and ourselves, find healthy integration with our historical hurts and patterns, and discover authentic On the floor, the dancers circling round me, I presence and effective compassion. We return to the felt tired, so tired I could not move my body. I did not kitchen to feed and clean for each other. We do what feel in trance or removed from my usual flow of con we can to tend the gardens and shelters, and tend the sciousness, but my body was refusing to animate, gardens and shelters of each other’s souls. unwilling to be stood up. I saw my body decaying, the Sanctuary can also attract those “over the vultures come and tear at the flesh and I felt myself edge.” We all can go a little crazy, get a bit depressed. as a skeleton. Here I realized that without nerves to For some the crazy and depressed grows into feel carry the motivating electrical force and the muscles ings of total isolation, worthlessness, self-obliteration. to respond, we have no physical life. Use it or lose! I imagine the majority of us go through these feelings The vultures are always to some extent yet find a waiting to clear rotting car path to integration. Some casses from the face of the have become haunted, earth. Good food in those unable to lift themselves out, dead hunks. weighted by the sadness of In a world where a existence. There are those life sustainable through non who need to die. Deliberately destructive, symbiotic inter or not, instantaneously or actions with natural cycles slowly. Some find suicide the has been genocided out of only escape. Some slip into existence, and the perpetual OD as if by accident, an acci war has become more and dent that choices have led more perfected to wipe out to. the lives, cultures and ways These losses go little of anyone holding out recognized except to those against global domination, who were close, though oth the individual has been put ers leave an emptiness, as their lives were so giving into a crisis of isolation-created insecurity. We find and full. Either way, another potential mentor, another escape in all kinds of practice: alcohol, TV, music, potential song or creative expression, another unno drugs, sex, the usual distractions. We suck in poisons ticed act of kindness or grace, another library of sto and excess in our slow personal destruction. We ries evaporates into the cosmos. Their continued struggle with over-indulgence, and our indulgences physical contribution to the healing that we all can be are often what kill us. part of as the monster of capitalism unravels its mess Sanctuary attracts those who live, at least in around us, is lost and can only be invoked through their hearts, on the fringes. These places of respite memory and ritual. that our faerie elders and ancestors have carved out As living people, we can bring love to the situ for us as safe havens to do the work of being our ation and hopefully be a beacon that brings those selves allow us, if we choose, to connect with our full sensitivities, with the forces of nature, with the truth of looking to the vultures and wondering if it is their time to sacrifice their body to the birds. If it is, for whatever the seasons, with a smaller, more immediate circle of reason, then may we all be given the opportunity to life. bring light to the transition from living body to vague We work and play at creating a close and sup concept of energetics. portive community, yet there is no panacea. We can We have had to admit to ourselves that our have a hard time visioning much beyond cooking din capacity as individuals or a group of caring people ner, holding space and getting on with life. Community has been pushed further than our capability to handle life can easily bring the shadow parts of ourselves to the fore. A foundation of love and sharing confronts us those with such emotions. It is easy to reject outsiders

SHARING THE FRUITS OF OUR LIVING BODIES:

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willingness to share our physical and energetic heal ing powers, a practical exploration of the magic we create as expanders of queer consciousness. We will have to return to ritual. Ritual of wel coming and ritual of loss. Ritual of connection within self, self to others, each to the lineage before us, and the lineage to come, heart, blood and soul. Ritual of honoring sacred space, areas put aside for our earth and sky magic. Places of theatre, coming together, retreat, deep expression, of escape and of a more profound inclusion. Ritual will allow us to focus on our highest super-powered potentials as fruits of the living body. Perhaps we have the powers of invisibility, glamour, energetic kinesis, to find lost items, to find hidden ways (shape-shift, heal, entertain, etc.) to simply feed and love and care. The powers of patience, of listen ing of knowing easy solutions and quick recipes, hav ing the hook up or the transportation, the deal, the cash work or the safe place... these are the things that are important, We may not only save from self-destruction a friend who may, given a reason to go on living, man ifest who knows what beauty or creative joy, we also begin to develop potential of our own that has not been noticed or given a chance to blossom and become another fruit to offer to the world of belief in living, and a continued existence that may find ways to restore and heal the destruction that has been so ruthlessly wrought upon the planet.

and difficult people, especially when part of the psy chosis is often their not being able to see the mess they are creating. It is easy to not notice someone’s truth, especially if it is well-hidden. Although I have no doubt that, often unknowingly, this saving and affirm ing of life transpires and will continue to. As people who hold Sanctuary we need to continue to discover the best way of holding on to each other through the emotional squalls that lead to the decisions that lead a few of us to suicide. We need always to reinforce the celebration and claims to life we each conjure. I have no doubt that, often unknow ingly, this saving and affirming of life transpires and will continue. Sanctuary can be a place of love, support, re awakening, knowing self, reconnecting with the sea sonal nature of existence, remembering that we have a role in this embodiment to share with those we meet. Often simple and self-guided, this journey can be assisted through ritual, emotional processing, massage and other healing therapies and affirming the gifts we all have to share, even if long hidden. Those too locked into unresponsive psychic disloca tion may need more professional help and yet hope fully can be supported through that process. As the earth changes unfold, the foundations of the economy crumble, the illusions of marketing and the intrusion of authoritarian control systems are reinforced, and the whole thing, so tightly wound, increases in its rate of un-spinning we are a people looking for a genuine and progressive response. Our willingness to listen, in heart circles most formally but often individually to those who need an ear, has brought us far. The next step is to move into healing and support circles. We have the clarity and maturity to bring personal exploration to the group context; a deepening of our conversations, a

D ra w in g s by Jim Ja ck so n

Kicksintheshins

No more. Trapped in keyless safety-vaults, Kicksintheshins will not again wield their pain upon vulnerable flesh. Survived are shiny broken goods, on point mental cases, sewn heart breaks, and |jj^ checker-chip shoulders. l

Eli?

O b itu a ry B lurbs by B la k e N.

RID f all 2008 #135

A D a u g h te rs D eath Note B i) C h a n d ra I was asked to write about death, about how I per ceive it. how it has affected my life. Well, the universal thing about death is, everyone has some experience with it. 1 just happen to have more than the average person. Perhaps that has to do with the com m unity 1 was raised in, perhaps it’s the way my mother raised me within that com munity. Maybe the universe had a predestined path for me, in which I was the one kid in my whole peer group who knew how it felt to see a dead body, and for that dead body be o f som eone 1 loved very much. And maybe the universe and karmic gods knew that 1 was the only kid who could handle it. And I did. and 1 continue to do so, though not as much anym ore, thankfully.

fluffy

1982-2008

''N

fluffy, the familiar living at the chaos cabaret, slithered into another plane this past june. a 13 foot burmese python, she was loved and slightly feared by faeries around the world, she helped many faes overcome their fear of snakes, and even grow to love them, she and silverfang shared 15 years of life together, going to faerie pride villages, swimming in wading pools, scaring neighbors, she is deeply missed and greatly celebrated.

RH) f all 2008 #135

|This photo was first featured in Issue #86 ol RFD|

From ‘94-‘98, deaths came one after the other. My mother still refers to them as the “plague” years, which is the most accurate way to describe how often my friends were dying. It started with Kalyn in early ’94; 1 was 9. A nine year-old taking sick days from school to sit and watch as he slowly and painful ly deteriorated. I cried a lot as a child, mostly because 1 knew that’s what I was supposed to be doing. I was sad, but at that age and with that particular illness, so much of it was over my head. Kitty passed in ‘95, followed by Diet later in the year. The two that hit hardest were Crystal Mae and Daisy Chainsaw, literally 1 week after the other. One fucking week of planning one funeral and hearing about the death of another faerie family member. Crystal was bed-ridden for the last few weeks of her life; we would BART over to SF to see her. Those last weeks consist ed mostly of planning out how we would deal with the body. All 1 clearly remember is the day of the funeral. 1 was picked up early from school, and driven by a mutual friend to the parlor in the city. Everyone had already arrived and was dressed (fabulously decked out in the finest funeral attire, of course). Crystal’s group of caretakers had decided she should be mummified; they crafted this extraordinary death mask, which she had made herself before she was too sick to work, and had wrapped her in a black shroud. I clearly remember looking into her casket and being dumbstruck by how peaceful and beautiful she was. 14

Directly after the viewing, a family portrait was taken. My face in that picture describes n o w I felt in that m o m e n t a n d in every moment since then, when I h a v e t o l o o k at the dea d face of o n e of my loved ones.

There are more. I could go on for another few pages about details for each o f their deaths. These few that I’ve focused on are just the people who have influenced me the most. I have learned from them, all that 1 know about death and the process we all inevitably go through. There will always be the expected ones, those with more closure and time. And there w ill always be the sur prises, the ones that hurt m ore because you didn’t get to saygoodbye. The only way to get through any o f it is to know that it happens, it just happens. 1 suppose all o f this ram bling com es dow n to the reason 1 was asked to write this piece in the first place. The m em ories o f deaths 1 have looked back on most recently have all been triggered by “Philadelphia,” a movie 1 only recently saw for the first time. I know, I know, a movie about AIDS m akes me rem em ber all o f mv dead friends, cliche right? 1 had to explain to the people 1 was watching the m ovie with that the subject m atter hit close to home and I was having a hard time dealing w ith the fact that I felt as if I was forgetting my friends. So yeah, it got to me. It got me to stop and actually think about everyone and to rem em ber them more than once a year at the sam hain fire. After som e needed sobbing 1 decided to write them an email, just to put down on paper how I was feeling at that specific m om ent, and how much I missed and loved them all. I have my mom to thank for my views on how this all works. 1 have her to comfort me and to be the one who needs com forting at times. I started thinking about my introduction to death and the relationship I have with my m other surrounding death. She has a ritual she participates in once a year when she gets extrem ely drunk and just feels as much as she can. This past year was the first time we spoke about her feelings o f remorse and guilt for exposing m e to the plague. Everything my m other has been through, I have been through, sim ply because 1 was there and she chose to expose m e to it. I don’t have any regrets or anger about what she has shown me, and to think that she had this guilt, this additional burden o f worry about how it m ust have affected me, hurt me. We each wanted the other to know we were sorry for the supposed guilt we caused; we had a good laugh and cry about that one. Rem em bering that and everything else she has been through, I forw'arded the email to my mother, prefacing it with a message expressing how much I appreciated how she taught me about life and death. How difficult it must be to have the one thing you’re best at be so dam ned painful and how I recognized and praised her for that. I pressed “send” and hoped that whoever needed to sec or hear that email would get it and smile. I want to share the email I wrote, if only to relive that m oment o f rem em brance and to possibly remind anyone who may be reading this to think about them as often as you can, cause they may be dead, but they dam n sure still need the thoughts.

Like I said, Daisy died a week later, a month before his 22nd birthday. We all knew they were both going, 1just didn't think it would be so close together. Daisy was like my older sister/brother, introducing me to m usicals and the Muppets, when I would visit we would spend days making mixes o f random old TV show theme songs and hits from the 70’s. Crystal and Daisy were 2 o f the most influential faeries in my life; they still are. They w elcom ed me as a 10 year old into this com m unity that had been predominantly childfree since it’s inception. And not only did they wel come me as the daughter o f a faerie friend, but they w-elcomed me as my own individual and saw me as Chandra instead o f W olfie’s kid. They were the first 2 people I actu ally hung out with on my own, at gatherings and outside o f faerie space. After those 2, I adjusted more quickly to each one thereafter. The majority o f my experiences with death have been the result o f AIDS, w hich I ’m grateful for. 1 have an inside view on how the disease worked, on how to prepare for the slow but steady inevitable decline o f an AIDS patient in the 9 0 ’s. That was one o f the advantages to this disease, you knew what was com ing, and you could expect a vague timeline. There have only been 2 deaths that I didn’t see coming, although only one o f them was an actual surprise. Lighteagle was hit by a car, and no one could foresee that any more than the everyday life/death expectations. He was taken with such force, and he w asn’t able to say goodbye, which is really the only difference, isn’t it? W hen you know that yo u 're going to die, you have the chance to clean everything up. The only other death that was unexpected (yet not a surprise) was that o f Violet Plague (the cattiest bitch to ever grace me with her presence). Violet was found in an alley in SF, with the needle still stuck in her arm. Everyone knew she had a drug problem. Shit, she had a lot o f problem s that she frequently brought to community. People expected her to know her limits, although why w'e expected som eone who would drink vanilla extract because she couldn’t find any other alcohol to know any limits is beyond me. You sure did know the m eaning o f indulgence didn’t you, Vi? Violet was the first dead body 1 ever saw prior to any funeral treatment. He was just laid out, on a slab, naked and dead. 15

RFD Fall 2008 #135

why i’m still here: a mother's response by wolfie siver-fang

Atom, l iu.*I needed to send tbio to you since l couldn t cull you tbio lute ut night. I in in u super emotionally chargeA space and I out Aown to write and ihut came out. / lore you unA hope you ure oleeping well. I in going to try to get to beA coon, maybe III bare some tea or something. Sending you this email io the closest l cun get to falling apart in your arms, so it will base to Ao. / lose you so much unA / thank you for your work. I am so blessed to be able to know the pain and release of Aeatb so closely. You are amazing at what you Ao anA / know it comes as a burAen toi> often, but know that you re appreciateA anA loseAanA careAfor. I lose you so eery much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

death? yeah, i think i know a little bit about death, i love death, the word yearn com es to mind, i'v e always been more afraid o f living than dying, thank the ghawds we have psychedelics to make it all bearable. i’ve been there, i’ve dissolved into the ground and stopped breathing, and had to really think about if i wanted to inhale, because if i did my body would re-aggregate and i’d be living again, i didn’t want to breathe, i was so com fort able just dissolving into the earth, i rem em bered my daugh ter, the being i was so deeply connected to, the child who had already seen so much death, and i knew i couldn't leave her like so m any others had already done, i took a slow, deep breath and let my body re-form, and i wept in grief and bliss because i had to com e back, and because i knew what it felt like now and had no more fear.

D ear K alyn , K itty , D iet, C rystal, D aisy, Light Eagle,Alakai, Violet, Paul, Hooter anA Buckwheat... I know / Aon l think about an y o f you much anymore, which is alm ost as pain fu l to think about as it i< to a dm it while writing Aown. / Aon l know i f it s on purpose or ju s t because / hon estly forget, anA / Aon i know which is worse. I m iss you so much anA i in foresee gratefu l that / can sa y that l knew a ll o f you when 1 Aid. But it s really hard to know that a ll of our lim e spent togeth er was when / was so young. None of you know who / am now, the kinA of person that i ’ve become ( (or m aybe you Ao, 1 Aon’t know how you spend you r lime, wherever you a re )). It kills me to adm it that so much p oten tial was taken so early on, so much passion and genius a n d genuine goodness, from a ll o f you. Some o f you / was more close with than others, based solely on the f a d that you left way too early. I hold each o f you in the highest regards, and / want to m ake sure l think o f you at least every other day. A la y be that s why I ’m writing this bulk letter, to remind m yself to remember you, to let it a ll out in the only way I know how. Eve never prayed, / don 't even know i f I believe in prayer. But / do believe that sharing m y thoughts will somehow reach you. I ju s t wanted to s a y hello, I m iss you and even tbougbm y thoughts have been few and very far between, I s till remember and love you. A little more everyday. H appy Birthday Daisy, Em sorry I couldn t m ake it to you r p a rty this year. I felt everyone and wished I could be there with you. / s till have the daisy chainsaw tape m ix, / think I 'll lis ten to it tomorrow.

last year i played the card death in a perform ance o f living tarot, i did this less than two weeks after sitting w ith the death o f a dear friend, i had no tim e to write a monologue, so i pulled it out o f my ass onstage, i don’t rem em ber everything i said, although i m anaged to quote my two favorite a l’s: aleister crowley said it was important to die daily, that we may be bom anew each dawn and albus dum bledore said that to the well oiganised mind, death was but the next great adventure. i know g rief too. the pictures, the m em ories, the sledge ham m er in the chest that eventually becomes a little more sporadic, a little less intense as time goes on. the wanting to call and tell them som ething, ten years after, the rage at the ones who left over som ething i considered stupid, the care giver rage over old stupidity being reborn even now, and the rage at m yself for being so angry and attached and uncom passionate, some buddhist i am. i do a yearly ritual with a select group o f friends, a ritual of wit and grieving, it’s an old Victorian british ceremony, involving clever w ordplay, copious am ounts o f fine whiskey, and emotional catharsis, when we had hit that point, and i was drunk and crying, out o f nowhere, my daughter was there, holding me. all the years o f fear that i had dam aged her by my life in the plague came exploding out o f my subconscious, and all i could do was apologise for taking her through that pain as a child, there i was, drunk, sobbing, feeling things i hadn’t even known existed, and she looked me in the eye, and told me she loved me, and that she w ouldn’t trade her childhood and all its inten sity for anything, i still have no words for how that felt.

(’foodnight m y friend, k -C handra I received a p hone call the next m o rn in g from mom, th a n k in g me for being an am az in g a n d insightful daughter, and 1 tu r n e d it right back on her a n d told h er I loved her and I w o u l d n ’t w a n t it any o th e r way. 1 c ould n ever do w h a t she does, not as m uch as she tloes it, b u t 1 am so eternally g r a te ful that she is in this w orld to be that p erso n for any o n e w h o needs it. I hope that w hen the w orld com es to an end, I can brea th e a sigh ol relief, because there will be so much to look forw ard to. KM) Fall 200X #135

/ m writing this, and the memories o f everyone and all the feelings are sw arming, and i m crying, i sit here surround ed by jars o f the physical remains o f m v lovers, my broth ers. my friends. how m any? how many needed to be taken care of? the baths, the dem entia, the spirit talks, the disappearing lines between realities, how many nights crying at being the one who had to com e back, the one to hold them as they walked through that gate doorway veil insert-cultural-euphcm ism here. and then have to com e back to this plane, this place full o f hurt and stress.

i’m an anarchist, i'm a witch and a magician, i believe in the supremacy o f free will, if som eone wants to take them selves out o f this reality, i support them, people get all caught up in death somehow being the opposite o f life, which is bullshit, death is the opposite o f birth, there is a fear o f death because no one really knows, all we have is theories, and where there is uncertainly, most people step into fear, people get so shocked by death, and yet w e’re sur rounded by it every moment, from the bacteria you breathe to the psychic ripples every time som eone else dies in a w ar zone, you're soaking in it. i have my ow n fear, fear o f being one o f the few who is left to remember, fear o f never getting to die myself, laying in bed every night w ith all my knives, my swords, my blades, my drugs, all within reach, more than enough to take me out, and my fear o f not being strong enough to go through w ith it. or fear o f giving in and taking the easy w ay out.

i was so jealous for a while, especially after going through the first bardo with them and having to com e back and still be alive. They got to continue on. fucking lucky bitches. i’m so tired, and yet i'll be up in the m orning, checking on whoever i’m taking care o f now, m aking them food, sur rounding them with as much comfort and safety as i can. so they can walk into their death unafraid, i don't mention my inner kaleidoscope, ‘cause i’m there to be the strong one, the anchor, this is not the job i thought i’d have when i grew up. i suppose if i ever grow' up, i'll have to figure out what that jo b is.

i was outside a hospital once, sm oking while my friend got worked over by doctors, it was near 2am. this guy was sit ting over in a com er m um bling in an agitated manner, like the m asochist i am, i amble over and ask him what was up. he starts ranting at me about how his life sucks, and that he thinks he m ight be better o ff just running away and killing himself, he looks at me, and asks me what i think, expect ing me to start in with the usual d o n 't do that rap. i look him in the eye and tell him i think it's a great idea, if he really feels that bad, then go for it. with one stipulation...

there is a selfishness that the living have towards the dead, there is a greed that m anifests in the constant invoking o f the dead, in the insistence that “they’re still with us,” in the notion that when our friends die, they stay right here, easi ly accessible, at our beck and call, if you believe in some sort o f eternal soul, some individuated “i” that continues on in a linear fashion, then why would you insist that they stay right next to the plane they just left? when the entire multiverse is now open to be explored? w ouldn't you want to see what your new reality plane looked like?

he looks at me warily, and asks, “w hat?” i continue to look him in the eye, and tell him, “go ahead and kill yourself, but you have to tell your family and friends goodbye first, you can’t leave a huge em otional mess behind, or you'll pay for it. if you really want to kill yourself, you need the courage to create closure before you go.” (i feel really strongly about this, it’s why i haven’t tried to kill m yself for the last 25 years, i’m too much o f a chickenshit)

fuck that noise, when my body finally releases me and my atomic cellular structure becomes unbound, there is no “ i” to continue on. there is dispersal, dissolution, and the col lective energy that was me is now free to becom e a million different things, none o f which is anything that was “m e”, except o f course for all o f it. atoms don’t die. they float and re-aggregate in com pletely different patterns, everything is part o f everything, ju st like bruno and lucretius said.(l) your maya may vary, mine is this.

he looks at me, and it dawns on him what i’m really saying, he starts crying, and goes back and forth between thanking me and cursing me. then he suddenly hugs me and calls me an angel sent to talk to him. i’m not used to being called an angel, so i just look at him and in my best drawl i say “jest doin’ my job, m a’am .”

that’s why I keep ashes and reliquaries, that’s the piece I hold because th at’s really all that’s left, in my perception o f the way the m ultiverse works. i noticed a long time ago that from the plague years, so many o f us are used to long, drawn-out death, lots o f time for closure, lots o f time to process, sudden death still wigs many o f us out, we who are so intimate with death, when lighteagle was killed by a car, many o f us just lost it com pletely. no goodbye, no lingering hugs no chance to put on the brave face, nothing, just a phone call, it’s a com pletely different process, kubler-ross(2) or not.

1) giordano bruno, magician and scientist in the mid I500Y executed by the catholic church in 1600 for heresy; titus lucretius cams 99 bc-50 be roman epicurean poet, author of “the nature of things", wherein is the first use of the word and concept of the atom and its immortal nature. 2) elisabeth kubler-ross (1926-2004) psychiatrist who first outlined the five stages of grief, now the standard model of grief analysis, often cred ited with helping the hospice care model gain acceptance.

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I read h is o b itu a ry not o n ly w i l l he never b r e a th e , e a t, or s le e p , he w i l l never fuck* i I remember th e hot tu b , m h is w an dering hands and I f e e l honored to have sh ared th a t w ith him, A

I've s h a r e d sex w i t h so many t h a t a r e now dead,

Been th e r e to g iv e a moment o f p le a su r e to a sh o r te n e d l i f e . Knowing them i n ways t h e i r m o u rn in g m o th e rs c o u l d n 't h a v e known Knowing t h e i r b o d ie s n o t l i k e t h e b ack o f my h a n d o r hometown b u t as a q u ic k d e s t i n a t i o n I 'd v i s i t fo r a d v e n tu re , ex citem en t, e ja c u la tio n .

I knew t h e ir b o d ies when th e y had p u ls e s , when t h e ir h e a r tb e a ts quickened and t h e ir c h e s ts heaved w ith th e i n t e n s i t y o f orgasm.

To d e s i r e them now f e e l s odd as th e v ery v essel I l u s t e d f o r decomposes.

And when one o f our s e x u a l scen es f l a s h e s th rou gh my mind d u r in g m astu rb ation ,

rem th at An e x -lo v e r's way o f h on orin g th e dead and h on orin g th e p la c e s I touched t h a t cannot be touched a g a in .

JKS RKD Kali 2008 #135

Stopping a Minute d e a t h a n g e l bv Lucius Day by d o m i n i e v i n e of the owl s There are a lot of Rons and Robs and Robert ghosts on the Ancestor Page. Their tinsel blown away to flesh and phlegm long dried-up. Their reflections grin out at us from their finest, glory-be days. Ah. youth rushes in: ruddy, confident and humorous. Only to limp out: disheveled, goats and gray. But the rickety Middle Age is Ornamented with festoons of comedy, pathos and defiance.

some people should die thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just unconscious knowledge boys death tribe chaos tribes chaotes thanantotic drive the beautiful boy Thanatos

trving to find love life a foreign substance state Blue Buckwheat there is so much in the world that needs to be Harry Hay destroyed Rob Battista the prayer the command Who collided with me but briefly Down in Flames

With wistful eyes 1 scan the list of our Dearly Departed, Most of whom 1 never knew except:

And yet Their memory brings Ohm life's fragility. Today is a gift to be unwrapped immediately. The empty pages: blank obituaries without life summaries (Perhaps nothing but a mere name, or a Freckled face in Technicolor beamed out to us from 1974), Hold immaculate Symbol and Truth, Gelled in time by 6 degrees, 6 senses, 6 obituaries.

in youth always identifying with the evil character the devil mr bad help people die die

so is it wrong to tell people to commit suicide? why stay alive in a state of misery? Who danced with man-wolf spirits, pills, pain, illness are you doing here? How the low-key shamans bom in the 1950s do what encourage death Swell the ranks of our fallen. not victims

But. do those of us who march ever on take the Time to stop and remember, to pause and reflect on Those that ceased breathing in 1995 (or was it 2001)?

used to try to heal the world breed people with love and life or sign up with evil angeias

What was the world like when it ended? A grainy snapshot, Oregon 1985: five whiskered soulmen gathÂ ered On a couch with auras extending out to Uranus; Travelers, answerers, conjurors all, Who loved life in their own way, all the way up to their fall.

breed people with death usher souls into the darkess not everything needs to be remembered but play fair recognize those working towards the life help and support them

Stalwart, backwoods hippy fag men Who lusted after life in the imp cave of Eros. Had star leaves in their beards and Agile, practiced, weathered hands,

as those working toward the dark active participants

No polysterene wings or Cool Neon lights, Lit the hollows where they fanned and blessed the lands.

but those lost and adrift clear them from the slate or give them a wake up call

Warlock songs, secret handshakes, Wooden houses with no plastic, Seasoned, teak bowls, greased crystals.

when the door to the abyss is open it makes yr options more clear

Stretching the spine to positions it's never reached before, On a plane high above the incessant din of the Other Kinds, To finally sigh against the heaving chest of a big barrel-chested man When Moon and Sun share the 4pm sky.

always wanted to end it all but not my place my place is presence witness and doing the work needed at the moment

Thinking: How long will this whirl last?

RFD Fall 2008 #135

suicide •* voor body’s wav of saying +ha+ Massive cfian^e is necessary +o Move forward, when suicide is chosen it is because the siM#»(es+ choice to Mafce is reMovin^ +he b®ssibi(i+v +o choose.

x ox o Free 'from the Couch" a portrait of Christopher Hamblin by David Aaron Hoffnung

N eo liberalaph ilia. Expired. A[ Famed for its deceitful drive for possession of the goods, y services or financial livelihoods of tw o-thirds countries, in th e late 20 th to early 21st centuries. Known to decom pose em pathic abilities in hum ans it pos sessed to do its dirty deeds, studies saw neoliberalaphilia conditions spread in CEOs involved in entities such as W alm art, Shell or McDonalds. Transmission occurred to bodies previously susceptible to hate. Survived are the foods, technologies & w ell-being of all tw o-thirds countries. A

IEEE ""

Cara led me & the policem an down to the guy in a sleeping bag under a bush He hasn’t moved since M onday said Cara 1 think m aybe h e’s dead The policem an walked up to him shouting Poked with a boot, he moved all in one piece Looks like natural causes the cop said into the radio to us he said He probably just went to sleep & never woke up When I was a kid I was terrified o f that Now I lay me stuff Now I’m a grownup I think Lucky man Are there any special prayers for dead winos? God, m aybe he was yours more than mine But lets not argue about that For two days nobody wondered at the old guy sleeping out in the rain I don’t know what you owed him, Lord but I owed him food & shelter & neither o f us did any too damn good here This stupid poem is neither a baked potato nor a quart o f superm arket vodka All o f the w orld’s great literature w on’t keep a mouse alive for a m inute This poem isn’t even big enough to fold up into a paper rain hat

Kl l) t all 2(X>8 #135

The Puberty of Smell bv Ant l e r When a friend o f mine returned from the lietnam War. he went hack to the factory he worked in before being drafted. After his first day back on the job. he locked himself in his bedroom. His motherknocked and asked if he wanted some dinner. There was no answer. Minutes later she heard the shot.

If the second before pulling the trigger you remember me. remember me smelling lilacs. How every time smelling lilacs I remember The time my mescalined olfactory system caught on the early morning breeze the full-blossomed and blossoming lilacs at Big Smoky Falls, How my nose approached like a boy discovering his cock feels so good he can’t help crying out. How circling the tree at nose level caressing with my nose those purple clouds of fragrance 1 experienced where I smell inside my skull above my mouth and under my eyes in the very center my nose’s First orgasm. Not caring if anyone saw my abandon— Though no one was there, no one but birds and songs the sun rises in them and the falls and the song of the falls and the song of mosquitoes I gave my blood to with joy— And even if I didn’t think then of the scent between pubescent legs, Or remember my boyhood cock no longer exists to caress breasts of early morning dreams, I saw them opening, all opening and opening themselves And glowing in the sun's first rays, lifting themselves to the sun in the just-felt breeze As if they'd waited, As if everything in the Universe had w aited Till 1 came, till 1 could smell them opening, my nose caressed by those blossoms, those lilacs, those clusters of fragrance and the living color called purple. As 1 opened and closed my eyes with my breathing, Every so often remembering where I wras, Remembering I had a face and that that face had a nose for didn’t it seem to me then all I was was smell?

S h o rtb u s photo courtesy of John Cameron Mitchell

Jim— Even if you’ve already killed yourself. When the time comes you have my name and I have yours, write this for me. Or when next you’re about to pull the trigger. Remember in that second before you discover if you can hear the shot That for a few grains of the hourglass this was me— That I too had no choice, drawn by the smell irresistible, My nose approaching like the lover who believes no one on earth can love more passionately Remember me then smelling so hard As if 1 were the first to aroma this peculiar translation of coipses, As if 1 were the first to make love to lilacs. As if 1 were entering strange houses of early morning drawn toward sleeping boys to hold lilac sprigs to nostrils of their dreams, As if I’d discovered the answer to all the questions the Universe inside my skull could ask. And so, in the second before you blow out your brain, when you look in to the gun and feel where the hole in your head will be. Remember you were immortal before you were bom, that even before this poem your suicide must be as fragrant as lilacs. And always remember in that morning the color of lilacs How I smelled them till I could smell them no more, withdrawing, fulfilled and wondering If you went to those lilacs at Big Smoky Falls you’d be surprised they had no smell because 1 must’ve inhaled it all. Wondering if I’d smelled those purple clouds so well if you inhaled from my nose you could smell them now.

Rl I) t all 2008 #135

plete oxidation to carbon dioxide. Because it is difficult to detect, people become tired, sleepy and fall asleep while inhaling it. CO gas is lighter than air which neces sitates making sure all windows and doors are closed and well sealed for possible leaks. Carbon Monoxide for my choice is the most preferable method of committing suicide. And for many reasons; it has the least amount of pain (some dizziness and headache may occur); the success rate is high; it is easy to prepare for; and it has been commented that it is the most beautiful way to suicide with the dead looking peaceful and their skin usually appearing a bit pink. A simple method of using CO is to purchase some barbecue charcoal. Set it on fire outdoors or in the kitchen if you have an exhaust fan (prevent having lots of smoke indoors). When it is burning well and not produc ing smoke, bring it into a room that is not too large, clos ing all the windows and doors. Make sure there are no serious leaks by sealing them so the gas will not leak and poison the people who live above or next to your room. Going to the bathroom beforehand can avoid excrement at the scene. Take a heavy dose of a strong sleeping pill, headache pill, relaxant, some wine or any favorite alco hol of your choice. You can then lie down, sit comfort ably, listen to music, read a book, perform rituals, medi tate or do anything you choose. Be relaxed and happy, with the attitude of being ready to go to a better place. You will go peacefully. Even easier than this is the commonly popular method of turning on your car engine in a closed garage. Again listening to music, reading a book, taking sleeping agents, wine or favorite foods are yours to choose. If you want to be outdoors in your car, you will need to carefully choose a place and time where you are confident you will not be discovered for 8 hours. Getting rescued would be quite a disappointment. You will also need to purchase a flexible pipe or hose to redirect the exhaust gas back into the car, sealing all the leaks as nec essary. If you are interested in acquiring further knowl edge on other methods of committing suicide, I recom mend The Complete Manual o f Suicide.

« < Suicide Tools » > Doghood (With help from my slave, worthless)

This article offers you tools and perspectives from my own experiences and knowledge to help you commit suicide and have an easier path leaving this world. It may create controversy, hut I write this from my love and care and the belief that we each have the free dom o f choice over our own life. In the introduction o f a banned Japanese book "The Complete Manual o f Suicide” by Wataru Tsurumi, it mentions that the author has a friend. He carries a small container o f Angel Dust around on his necklace, with the intention that it can assist himself to leap o ff a building to commit suicide anytime he wants. He is a very■happy person in his every day life knowing that each day is his own choice to live that day. And the author's wish is that the book will have the same function for its readers as that necklace has for its owner. Having been suicidal for 6 years, l understand that there are many obstacles along the path to commit ting the act o f suicide. But / have since then developed some thoughts, philosophies, attitudes and techniques which will help me to commit suicide in the future. / am therefore sharing my thoughts and knowledge here, to assist people making a better necklace. Relieving the Shame Society has a lot of judgment about someone being depressed and suicidal, as being weak, irresponsi ble, avoiding reality and often crazy. The greatest dis grace and shame is usually reserved for those who have failed in their attempt to commit suicide. In our commu nity, we know only too well the many of us who live in depression, entertain suicide, attempt it and the some who have succeeded. Our community faces and looks at suicide frequently, but we do not talk about it enough, we avoid talking about it openly above a whisper and through that avoidance, we too create a taboo around it. This is the pattern of communication we create around subjects that we feel shameful of. 1 like to talk about sui cide in a very clear and positive way, with the intention of relieving the shame and pressure around it.

Preparing Now for Later If you think that you may commit suicide, you should start making some preparations right now. Quite often people have not made any preparations until the last moment w'hen they decide to die. And it is very often that after you have gone through these preparations, you have missed the emotional window of opportunity you have been waiting for. Consider what is needed for your sui cide. Purchase everything you may need now and store them well.

C housing C arhon Monoxide

Carbon Monoxide (CO) is a colorless, odorless, tasteless, and non-irritating gas, making it difficult for people to detect. It is also a very toxic gas causing poi soning and death after prolonged inhalation. CO is a product of the combustion of organic matter under condi tions of restricted oxygen supply, which prevents com K1 I) ( all 2008 #135

A Moment to Catch Being suicidal can persist for years. But the times that 1thought I was able to act on it and actually kill myself; these emotional windows of time were quite short. It is therefore important to "prepare well and wait for the moment to catch". I therefore do as much prepa ration as I can. updating it every once and a while, mak ing sure that I am always ready to go. On the other hand, when the moment arrives with the right emotions to act. I will do as little as I can to take advantage of the oppor tunity.

miss me and tear. But I invited them to celebrate and be happy for me when 1 have succeeded, because if they understand me in my way they will appreciate it is a good thing happening. 1 discovered that people who could respect my thoughts w ithout arguing or judgment could really understand me. With these people 1 became very close. The intention of communicating is to be consid erate for the emotions of your friends after your death and to reduce the confusion they might have. Care should be taken to avoid communicating it to people repetitiously for sympathy, attention or any other advantage.

Being Responsible One of the difficulties of suicide is the sense of responsibility, to family members, to loved ones and to others. We also need to be aware that “responsibility" is commonly used as a strategy to prevent suicide. This is something to be aware of at all times with anyone you confide your intention to. No one can be perfectly | responsible. But there are many things we can do to help us to com mit suicide in a very responsible way. A friend of mine who commit ted suicide, Ida, wrote a card to everyone who loved her before she jumped off a building. In the card, she told us that she loved us all, and suicide was her decision for herself and had nothing to do with us doing anything wrong. She wrote that she only received love from us and that knowing us was the best thing in her life. I have learned so much from this card. I admire her braveness and her care for our feelings. She showed me how she continues to Doghood love me after she died. I miss seeing her face, but her spirit is always with me now.

Term Life insurance An idea is taking out one or more automatically renewable life insurance policies, making sure that the policies cover suicide (policies do not cover suicide from the very beginning. There is usually a one or two year probationary period.) Therefore, you should do it as soon as you can. For suicide, Term Life Insurance is the most advantageous, because it offers a substantial death benefit for your minimum outlay of premium dollars. Completing a Last Will and Testament is very good idea as well. Remember to handwrite copies of a letter of your intention to commit suicide to store with your personal copies of your Life Insurance policy and Last Will and Testament. With more people knowing your intention to commit suicide, the more your loved ones are safer from the police. I found that knowing my death will contribute financially to the lives of my loved ones further releases at SMS some of my emotional worries in this world.

Informing vour friends of the likely Event A major part of early preparation and being responsible is letting people know that it is possible for you to commit suicide one day in the future. Let them know' that this is what you may do for yourself and that your decision is best for you. Then, when they learn about your death, they will have fewer thoughts of other things happening and be much less likely to blame them selves. The earlier you inform your friends the better. There will be less emotional stress and it will be easier for them to digest. I also told my friends that I understand they may

Story of the Beautiful Room Once upon a time there was a room. It was a large room that I helped decorate. I lived in this room my entire life with many, many people. Most people were happy, safe and content living in this beautiful room. But w hen I became of age, I found that I did not enjoy living in this room. In fact, I was not happy at all. I wondered what the big world outside this room would be like. So 1 started my plan to leave. When I shared my plan and curiosity about the world outside, 1 was surprised that many people kept on showing me the good things about this room, the comfort 23

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it offered which I knew only too well, telling me that 1 should stay. Some kept appreciating my contribution. Some warned me about the unspeakable dangers and hor rors in the outside world that they could only imagine, because nobody had been there. 1 understood that they might fear 1 would be too happy in the outside world and never return. My experience of them was to feel confined to the room, held against my desire and not heard. I began to yearn for freedom, for the world outside this room. The more people told me to stay, the more I wanted to leave the room. As an adventurer, 1wanted to explore the unknown world outside. I wanted to travel, to cross oceans, to cross mountains in search of what no one else has seen. People became hypnotized by the beauty of this room and feared to leave its safety, security and its familiarity. But for me, 1 gathered my optimism for the world outside, I grasped my bravery by the collar, I put on my adventurers overalls and I walked out of the door from the room to the world outside. I am optimistic, 1 have faith that the outside world can only be better. 1 created this story for myself as a positive per spective for my decision. I also found it a good story to tell when someone tries to convince me to stay in this world. Government and 1nstitutjonaLC on fro j Institutional society discusses suicide as a prob lem, and implements measures to prevent it, without engaging in any discussion on “Why can’t we suicide?” and “Why do we have to live?” When I actively ask these questions, I often get responses that try to shame me and call me irresponsible. Suicide is universally illegal everywhere on this planet. Why do governments interfere by compiling legal pressure to someone who intends to commit sui cide? Why do the authorities incarcerate and prosecute those who fail at their suicide? Why is the pressure from our family and friends not enough? Why is it so difficult for governments to allow suffering citizens to receive a compassionate end through euthanasia? Studying Sociology and Political Science told me that governments fear the loss of control and surveillance of its people. And suicide is the ultimate refusal to being controlled by anyone or any institution, religious or gov ernment. Governments kill their own citizens for many reasons, but the same governments criminalize people who commit or attempt to commit suicide. The Value of Life Conservatives often give an unlimited value to life, preaching that life is worth the great pain of suffer ing. They use this as a reason to stop abortions, stem-cell R1 D Hall 2008 #135

research, outlaw euthanasia and prevent suicide. 1cannot agree on this because ironically, they support capital pun ishment and wars. I believe the value of life itself should be zero, but the quality of life should have the value as accorded by individuals themselves which should be upheld and respected. Attachments to the Material World Buddhism teaches that in order to become a Buddha and not reincarnate anymore, we should not have any attachments in this world. Attachments can be peo ple, material objects, money or goals. Similarly, if we have something we are attached to in this world, we will have a difficult time leaving it. 1 have shown here that there are many measures we can undertake to be prepared on our path to commit ting suicide. They are for the purpose of fulfilling responsibilities and relieving anxieties. Prepare well, but do not get attached to them. Be relaxed and be ready to leave when the moment comes. Do not look back, and smile, facing the unknown future with confidence and optimism. (Note from the Guest Editor) For lack o f page space, Doghood's complete arti cle could riot be printed here. P le a s e v isit www.rfdmag.org to v ie w th e a r tic le in its e n tire ty. . ,

by Uuc Cxtorqts

recommendations for healing major illness steered me to consid er homeopathic medicine. Fortunately, a local woman in my area is an excellent practitioner of classical homeopathy, w ith terrific bu training and experience; I've been under Diana Osborne's care for about 8 months. She conducts an extensive interview w ith me In 2007 / was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic every few months, exploring my spiritual, mental, emotional, and Leukemia (CLL). I had two initial reactions. I was thrilled that physical states, and provides a remedy customized to my current allopathic (western) medicine didn t prescribe chemo, radiation, state of being. Based on what she has learned about me. Diana or other treatment. And, / knew the most important thing fo r me thinks it is possible that homeopathy will cure my CLL. Of to do about this "slow-progressing " illness would be to get in course, there are no guarantees, and she says it will take at least touch with a deep inner motivation for staying alive on this plan a year (probably more). 1 love her dearly, and. based on her guid et. / left the oncologist s office in a mood o f triumphant grati ance. I'm avoiding acupuncture and some other modalities (plus tude. knowing that my unknown future would push me toward coffee, mint, camphor strong smells in general) not because becoming more real. My doctor said CLL can t be healed, or even any of them are bad, but because she says they would get in the slowed. His guidance to "watch and w ait" implied getting regu way of giving her subtle approach a chance to take effect. lar testing, watching the results, and waiting fo r things to turn Two other books have been especially helpful to me. sour. Yes, I was willing to undergo the testing, but not the wait Jeanne Achterberg's Imagery in Healing Shamanism and ing! Modern Medicine makes a strong case for the value of using visu Armed with the desire to be pro-active with this illness, alization in healing, and has inspired me to see my white blood I was really glad that the Fall Gathering at Short Mountain was cells shift out of their frenetic over-excited state, move out of the only two days away. It was crucial to connect with dear friends slightly enlarged lymph nodes in my neck, and basically take it and share my news with them. And, being there, it was difficult to easy. Coyote Healing - Miracles in Native Medicine, by Lew is feel sorry fo r myself - / felt like I had joined the chronic disease Mehl-Modrona, has also opened my perspective greatly. Mehlclub, since my illness has a lot in common with HIV, and at least Modrona comes from a Cherokee-Lakota background, and holds half o f my faerie friends have probably dealt with that in their a PhD in clinical psychology in addition to his MI). He discuss own lives. But then 1 got home, and the work began. es seven factors which have been present in every medical “mir Mv reason fo r writing this article is to share my process acle” he has studied, and although simply listing them here does as o f July 2008, hoping it will be useful to others. All the n't give the whole picture, 1think it is valuable to share them: 1) approaches mentioned here can be found easily on the Internet. Relationship, particularly w ith guides, 2) Acceptance of w hatev Here goes... er happens, 3) Focus on the present. 4) Community support, 5) Transcending blame, 6) Spiritual connection, and 7) Profound First and foremost, I needed to work on that motivation. life change. How much did I want to live? At the age of 58, had I had enough My friends and mentors have all provided lots of help of this planet, with its struggles and frustrations so thoroughly (and the affection of friends and family is a constant source of mixed with joys and fulfillments? For me, addressing this core support). Sheila Donio from Brazil gave me a “magic” salve issue meant using my spiritual practices to speed up my lifelong called Pomada Vovo Pedro from her “spiritualist” church; 1 use it efforts toward self-realization. 1 didn't feel that the goal was to to help visualize the relaxing of my lymph nodes. My herbalist identify a new project to get involved in - I’ve already got plen friend Hollis Melton recommended eating clover, dandelion, net ty of those! Instead, to get more deeply in touch with my will to tle, and burdock, and I harvest all of these regularly from right live, I needed to quicken my efforts to release old patterns, clear outside my house. My wonderful regular doctor. Lisa Lichtig, self-sabotage from my life, and fulfill the powerful potential has me on a batch of supplements (since she also is an herbalist that’s always been in me. In the past 6 months. I’ve participated and energy healer). The amazing Ray O'Quinn, massage and in three Naraya ceremonies (using an ancient Shoshone dance of colon hydrotherapist, steered me toward including lots of raw prayer for healing and renewal, as led by the remarkable Clyde greens in my diet, and my daily breakfast consists of at least a Hall), added a meditation practice to my almost-daily schedule (a half pound of greens all mushed up in a food processor (with third-eye focus taught through the Clairvision school), added tniso, garlic, ginger, and the clover, dandelion and burdock that 1 some new postures to my daily yoga/stretching session, done harvest outside). Dr. Rich, my new chiropractor, uses the neuro intensive “cell release” breathwork with Jesse Torgerson, and lots soma technique, and I’ve recently started drinking Kangen water more. These efforts have strengthened the foundation that under which I get at his office. lies my desire for healing. Even more “w'oo”, my angelic friend Britestar (an enti In the early days of AIDS, the book You Can Heal Your ty channeled for me by Linda Barlow every few years since the Life by Louise Hay was very influential; although I didn’t agree late 1980s) has been very helpful in giving me insight into all w'ith all of Hay’s conclusions, I found a lot of truth in it, and this, and has taught me a powerful healing meditation. And bought copies for many friends. Hay’s personal story of being Rivers Sterling has provided amazingly esoteric energy clearings. diagnosed with a nasty cancer, and dedicating her life 24/7/365 to So I continue to “watch” but not “wait”. My blood tests her own healing, was very inspiring - and it helped to read that, have shown a slight improvement since all this began, and after trying every “alternative” modality she could find, she had although the numbers aren't significant, this is certainly not a bad achieved complete remission. My approach was to gather lots of sign. Most of all, I’m grateful to all my helpers on all levels information, and use my intuition to discriminate, choosing (including all the various aspects of my inner self) for the kick in approaches that resonated with me (rather than trying everything the pants that’s the essence of this journey. May all beings who at once). need healing, including this one, find ways to increase our capac I started with the book Radical Healing by my friend ity for digging deeply into wellness, with every breath. Amen, so Rudy Ballentine. Currently focused on teaching the yogic art of mote it be, and so it is! tantra (especially for queer people), Rudy is an Ml) who has spent his life exploring alternatives to allopathic medicine. His M ou n ta in e (m ountaine(q)gm ail. com ) is very in vo lve d with RFD.

C H - O O S I N ^ TO H E A L

RFD Fall 200X #135

Don't Let Them Be Forgotten!

The Faerie A ncestor List

N e s to r P irala. G r e g Lym an (B reire), B u ck w h ea t (P eter B ernard K e s se lm a n ), E m m ett M it c h e ll S te e le , C assan d ra (A r t J b lan sk yj, H o o t e r [D a v id L Car; Bear. D ia m o n d H ea rt

ie o f fr e y D o u g la s), L e o n a r d o S m ith , R ob ert R am irer (R o b b ie ), K atie E agle S in g e r [D a n [o n e s), R on ald W a y n e C a tta n i (S o m a ), Lupin (Gary 3

.«•»*

La a ns. i try R ea g a n ( I >ot t : ■, t ie r b e r t ia m e s A n d e r s o n (Justin C a s e ), E rnest S c h m id t, F irefox (Joh n ), Lou H a rriso n . Tug ( V io le t P la g u e ). R ob ert R o th e n m e y e r . Ham - M a k a i, M a r ty S o c c ie , R ob (R o b ert Jo

ij n a ttista , la p est!

A sh t’n , Jerer

ww w. ra df a e. or g ancestors 1 (R o b ert P a ttiso n ). .A u n tie B o n -B o n Bliss N in n y (B rian L ee B ach m a tin ). K en

>. A ssu n ta M p u k e ( fa c o Pe

fo u l B eard ), Jon ath an D im m o c k . A d a m

- e n n ■la s- ■D ari.

? m y C o r r y ), B lu e (B luford) M o o r , K evin M urray. S a n a L ittle B ear (Steve!

l ig h t E a g le. H e n a h a n i D a v id Joseph Stew artJ. H ib iscu s (G e o r g e H arris, Jr.), Jam es B r o u g h to n . A r la n d N e ls o n , R ob ert H a lw a c h s, Earth (M a rk H o lm e s ). Scott O’H

lir, C ie s ie ls k i, R e e d G rier, Y vain R e e d . D a v id C h a r le s L ee (B a m B a m ), N e ls o n », B lack h ea rt (C otiv M c B r id e ), B e a u tifu l D o v e - D a v id B ilker). PA Lire A lfr e d o ,

Age le B en

M in a m . ierry. S im o n M c L e o d (f rank D a v is). G o r d o n K irk w o o d , N ile s ,

C lo th ie r , ian L ynch. C o r a l, W h a rt Rat ,K en C h e e s e b r e w D o n tty t h e P unk.

P eter R yan. P u n c h .; iC h r is to p h e r L arkin). R a v en . R ich M o o g , R ichard V in c e n t , R ick F eld, R ick y W ilso n , R ob ert L ew is L evitan , R ob ert Parker, R ock S an d ITnm l

K.ilyn ! r a n q u ilso n [C o lin D a v id S m ith ), H a w k (R obert H o g e v e e n ) . D a isy (D a v id M . L in d ah l), L au g h in g B oy (Paul M a d r ig a l), D a d d y Bear R in gs (B arey M in e r Ctmdiff). Laughing O tter II (B e n n y M c A d a m s), B ruce P rieb e, W a lly H ilto n , Patrick H e m m in g , D ic k e y l e e S tafford , T erry [o n e s, G r e g S co tt, i ’e p a (lo se S e q u ie r a ). ly t in lo h n so n . vkb.it it Jar) I)o w d i. S te p h e n B r eck en rid g e "Lillian", R a v en W o lfd a n ce r, G ir le tte H u ss e y (R a n d y E sslinger), A lb e r t B ell "Rooster", M s. M o u th a , M u ffin (John Kevin Lally), G iovanni M u c c i, C u rt G a rtrell, Ion G r e e n b e r g , S te v e K asper, R ichard S tr a n g e , D a le Larsen, T o m m ie Tom -Tom (T om m ie H o d g e s), Brian lories, (Miss M a ry Louise, M oonbeam

M ic h a e l M a c le a n ) , lo e (lo s e p h 1.) D ra k e, John D u n la p , T h o m a s O 'M a lle y , Sk y Forest, M a rin a B arracuda, D r ip p in g B eaver (O liv e r K arthheiser). Sylvan C entaur (D a n n y R o e d e r ), C h a r le s H a llo r a n , M a u r ic e L agasse, V io le t F lam e, E ddie (M a r tin Edward V o id ), H al T atelm an , R a n g er Ric (R ichard B urton G ilb e r t), R obb

t .iia m ic o (Black 1‘o n v ). M a n fr e d Ib el, C la u d e B ranque, O skrr E a r th so n g -F e in o , lim M e h l, R obert B. M c N e e , M ic a K in d m an C arl " H u e M an n " S to n e , (ohn C. Burton, G a y R eynolds "G irlene" " lereld in e" , D o n a ld E. Bossard, D avid E m erson S m ith , C la u d e P e tty , B u tte rfly (W alter R lu m off), M ic h a e l i la m p to n , Luis 1 lan sa, N o v a B e g o n ia (R a n d y lacob s), R obin S te p h e n s "Rama Robin", Francis Lee M u llis, Brian K ing, l e o (D avid) A yers "Lynx", Purli (fttul) Sudds, G a r y R ovsek , Brian C o r b e ll, G a y M ason, M ichael M ason, R obert R. G ravely, S ach a (W ayn e) V o c e . PatT. D y k e ( M ic h a e l B r o w n field ), R in a ld o lttu r in o , R alph C o ffm a n , S h astin a M ylar (i lo y d t air), Kurt W risch ed el, la u g h in g O tte r 'W id d ersh in s" . N o e l C o w a rd . Puppy, M a tth ia s, D a n e , O scar W ild e , L ou ise C o g g in s, R um i, S te p h e n , Straw, Stuart T eitler, T id e (Carl Boesel), Gidget (Ted Birth), G a y ' K ic h lin e , Ryk (R ichard) C a m id g e , Stuart S c o fie ld , , W a y n e C arr " H o m u n c u lu s T roglodyte", Linda L una,

Au t u mn 2 0 0 8

R F D Cel e br a t e s 35 Years o f Qu e e r Publ i c a t i on Hi s t or y

W ill B a tten . W alt W h itm a n

Don't Let Them Be Forgotten!

The Faerie A ncestor List

ie o f fr e y D o u g la s), L e o n a r d o S m ith , R ob ert R am irer (R o b b ie ), K atie E agle S in g e r [D a n [o n e s), R on ald W a y n e C a tta n i (S o m a ), Lupin (Gary 3

.«•»*

ij n a ttista , la p est!

A sh t’n , Jerer

ww w. ra df a e. or g ancestors 1 (R o b ert P a ttiso n ). .A u n tie B o n -B o n Bliss N in n y (B rian L ee B ach m a tin ). K en

>. A ssu n ta M p u k e ( fa c o Pe

fo u l B eard ), Jon ath an D im m o c k . A d a m

- e n n ■la s- ■D ari.

? m y C o r r y ), B lu e (B luford) M o o r , K evin M urray. S a n a L ittle B ear (Steve!

Age le B en

M in a m . ierry. S im o n M c L e o d (f rank D a v is). G o r d o n K irk w o o d , N ile s ,

C lo th ie r , ian L ynch. C o r a l, W h a rt Rat ,K en C h e e s e b r e w D o n tty t h e P unk.

Au t u mn 2 0 0 8

R F D Cel e br a t e s 35 Years o f Qu e e r Publ i c a t i on Hi s t or y

W ill B a tten . W alt W h itm a n

F e y a n c e s t o r s M nsoi'v.

R^iveiA.

R aven W o lfd a n c e r M ic h a e l M a s o n

RFD Back Cover: Summer 81, by Michael Mason

RFD Cover: Spring 1980, by Raven

RFD Fall 2008 #135

Fey Ancestors: Mason and Raven

and poems and had a beautiful singing voice and would play songs accompanying himself on guitar.

W h e n I think b ack to our fey b eg in n in g s I c o n s id e r m y s e lf b lessed. O n e e v e n in g I w a s driving from A tlan ta in the m iddle o f th e night with R a v e n W o lfd a n c e r an d T B arfield

Both w e re e a rth y g uys. M a s o n loved th e co u ntry and

and th e n ext m o rn ing w e w o k e up in fairylan d on a high

built w alk w ay s a t R u n n in g W a te r an d S h ort M o u n tain .

slope or R o a n M o u n ta in n e a r th e North C a ro lin a -

R a v e n w a s a g a rd e n e r by tra d e so a d o re d by his clients

T e n n e s s e e border. A m o n g th e fa e rie s g a th e re d th ere

th e y w ou ld often w o rk w ith him ju st to b e in his p re s e n c e .

from far an d w id e w a s M ic h a e l M a s o n . T h e re w e re ab o u t

Both w e re p hysically b eau tifu l an d c h arism a tic , th ey

two d o ze n of us in all an d w e w e re ab o u t to d is co ve r w ho

w ou ld d o m in a te a room th ou gh n e ith e r w a s a bit

w e w e re in th e a b s e n c e o f all w e w e re not. It w a s

c o n c e ite d . T h e y both h ad H IV . M a s o n d ied e a rly in the

existen tially ex q u isite. O v e r th e n ext d e c a d e th e farm

e p id e m ic . R a v e n did not d ie o f H IV . M y s te ry sh rouds

that o rigin ally b e lo n g e d to M ikel W ils o n b e c a m e

both o f their d e a th s .

our R u n n in g W a te r F a rm , a h ave n fo r g a y m e n se arch in g

th e M o ntfo rd H o u s e in A s h e v ille for a w h ile told th e tale

for spiritual co n n e ctio n an d definition. W e g a th e re d on

th at on th e night o f M a s o n 's d e a th th e old h o u se b urned

the S u m m e r S o ls tic es an d th e Fall E q u in o x e s a g a in and

to th e g ro un d . R a v e n w a s m u rd e re d on his front porch

ag ain . B y th e tim e th e g a th e rin g s finish ed a n d th e farm

e a rly o n e m o rn ing . T h e re w e re no w itn e s s e s and th e

S te b b o Hill w h o lived w ith M a s o n in

w as sold th e re w e re m a n y o th e r fa e rie s a n c tu a rie s

m u rd e r w a s n e v e r re s o lv e d . It sh o ck ed the co m m u n ity

including S h o rt M o u n tain , R F D w a s firm ly e s ta b lis h e d in

an d his m e m o ria l w a s a n o u tp ou rin g of love, so rrow and

the So uth an d th e G a y Spirit V isio n s c o n fe re n c e s had

g ratitu d e .

begun at the M o u n ta in , n e a r H ig h lan d s, N C .

F ro m th e s e

roots c a m e the E u ro fa e rie s , th e O z fa e rie s d o w n u n d er

H o w w e re th e y d iffe ren t?

If M a s o n w a s S p ring , R a v e n

and th e fe y d elig h ts o f S o u th e a s t A s ia .

w a s A u tu m n . If M a s o n w a s ice, R a v e n w a s fire. T o m y k n o w le d g e th ey n e v e r cla s h e d and found p erp etu al

T h e re

a m u s e m e n t in th e o ther. M a s o n w a s p o s s e s s e d of

w ere m a n y fa e rie g o d p a re n ts but tw o w h o g a v e m uch

d u e n d e th a t d ark c re a tiv e uprising o f the spirit.

and h elped s h a p e th e m o v e m e n t w e re the p o e t an d

b e e n a g yp sy h e w ou ld h a v e san g the d e e p so n gs of

tro u b a d o u r M ic h a e l M a s o n o f B re v a rd , N C and artist and

p assion an d d a n c e d th e fla m e n c o .

sh am an R a v e n W o lfd a n c e r o f A tlan ta. Both m e n d e s e rv e

th e d u e r m a v a la , th at p la ce b e tw e e n sle ep in g and w ak in g

full length b io g rap h ie s an d m a y b e o n e d a y s o m e o n e will

w h e re th e m o st fa n tas tic c re a tiv e id e as e m e rg e . Look at

rise to th e o cca sio n and go through th eir a rc h iv e s an d

his d ra w in g s an d you will s e e th at th e y a re d an cin g out of

interview th eir surviving frien d s an d fam ily.

th e d re a m tim e into the m o rn ing of a w a re n e s s , not u nlike

In the

H a d he

R a v e n w a s m o re of

th e p aintin gs o f o n e of R a v e n 's fav o rite s S a lv a d o r D ali.

m e a n tim e w e o ffer a g lim p se for th ose cu rio us an d seeking inspiration. H e re a re a fe w clues to their m ag ic. T h e ir w ords an d im a g e s will s a y m uch

T h o s e of us w h o k n e w th e m m iss th em an d a p p re c ia te

m ore. Both h ad n a tiv e h eritag e , M a s o n w as p art

th eir leg ac y. T h e y w e re so vivid in life th at th e rain b ow

C h e ro k e e through his m o th e r an d R a v e n th ro ug h his

e c h o o f th eir e s s e n c e re v e rb e ra te s still. Listen, listen,

m o th er w a s part S e m in o le . Both w e re m u lti-ta le n te d .

listen . . . an d b e -h o ld .

M ason w a s a W h itm a n in th e m a kin g , a su p erb p e rfo rm an ce artist an d a sto n e m a so n . artist w ith p en and ink his p rim ary fo rm .

Fran klin A b b ott

R a v e n w a s an H e w ro te sto ries

S to n e M o u n tain 2 August 2 0 0 8

RFD Fall 2008 #135

Ml W H A T IT I S T H A T H I D E S O H R . H U M A N I T Y

W E H A V E M A D E , A S IF A F I N A L I T y , S O M E L A S T T E S T A M E N T T O W IT A N D W IS D O M ; YET THE M O O N CAN S E N D A B E A C O N 0 ,L 0 W TO PIE R C E CLOUD A N D D A R K C O V ER A N D W I N T E R S E N D IF C H I L L , S N O W A L S O TO COVER O U R B O A R D E R S,

A C H IL L T O O P E N S E N S E S T H A T F A I R E R B R E E Z , E S L A ID T O R E S T ; O N L Y IF H E A R T S T O O C O U L D S E E , O U R M IN D S -O U R V IS IO U N S, B O A R D E R S T H A T A R E M A D E IN T H E M , W HAT A B R IG H T E R B E A C O N W E COULD BE TO T H IS U N IV E R SE S E A -Raven

RFl) Fall 2008 #135

Icnow a circle | Icnow a v e ry w ise fo o l

5 o m e b e lie v e it c o u ld n e v e r be so

| Icnow a v c r } s e n s itiv e d ic t a t o r ,3 o m e have n e v e r s e e n a n y th in g | k n o w th e c irc le o f m is fits w h o tra v e l e lse p a th s o f w o n d e r u n s e e n b y P _m erald g a e a o f th e u n iv e rs e th e com m on e y e , 3 e t w ith in a w o m b o f w o n d e r

| k n o w o f w om en w h o w ill c h a n g e | k n o w a fr ie n d w h o is a b o u t th e w o d d t o d ie | k n o w o f men w h o s e w o d d | k n o w a fr ie n d w h o is a b o u t is y e t t o com e t o b e re b o r n | k n o w th e c irc le w h ic h tu r n s t o | k n o w th e c irc le s c a lle d le t s p in th e w e b s o f n o -tim e t o h o ld jo y & re le a s e s u c h s o rro w b u t no w

| k n o w o n e w h o s e lie s a re ~P here u p o n th e m o u n ta in s o f ro a n a b o u t th e tr u th o r ro c k y o r te n n e s s e e | k n o w o n e w h o s e b e a u ty ^P h e re u n d e r th e c ity m o o n s is h id d e n b e h in d a p r e t t y fa c e In h e re w ith in h e a rts , s o m e h o w | k n o w th e c irc le w h ic h e m b ra c e s s e t fr e e a n d e n fo ld s th e p a ra d o x we all a re A s s to rm c lo u d s fo rm in g , tw is tin g axis o f g a la x y s o u ls g a th e r in g A 5 f o o t s t e p s o f s o litu d e tr a v e le r

Raven Wolfdancer 7-4-88 Upon occasion of our 10th anniversary faery gathering

w h o s e s e lf is w h o le w ith in s e lf A s s le e p e r a w a k e n in g in th e arm s o f th e b e lo v e d

RKI) Kali 2008 #135

WHAT HOLDS THE POEM INSIDE All caught up by an abstraction The night is more removed from me Than I from it. And walking through a parking lot I realize how vulnerable I am. You can't patronize a poet. Drag him out for 'filler' Then expecting and demanding it all go Just as neatly back in. Pandora's box of words, honey, Don't let it out till you know Your verbs from your nouns, The specific from the diminuitive cases. And Even Then. Jazz is all very well and good bop bop. But try knock fin day is especial for me. (Doan task me white.) (Cuz Ida n o .) Poem is like moth, then, in a wray: Displaying that same scratching and beatinc And frantic Against the glass That won't let you in or W o n 't let it o u t .

S to n e ca re d by M ic h a e l

It's all the coming to Life of Something You sense, through your fingers, it's a Going away and coming back to, it's Constantly peeled back to the bone, a Miraculous thing - I feel it When, to feel, is itself Miracle upon miracle of Exponent to the highest. The tangles and splays of neural code On top of code On top of ways of being Is is NOT just shatter ring Time Just to be here this moment? (Zidden buy de blidden vop)

KH) I all 2008 #135

Michael and Obelisk-Short Mt, Sanctuary

WHAT HOLDS THE POEM INSIDE,

continued, page 2.

A poet these days has to contend with How Things Are. ["Our enemies are closer than that They're along the corridors." --EVITA] Everything ever thought or felt, or Said or written, Carves upon this present moment An embroidery with too much Applique, too much inlay. Sometimes I want to disappear and Be born again Not thriving over coffcecups For an active verb. Not to wake up in the dark of night To remind myself to remember. In Ink I Think. There is all of history to snatch invectives The image is all these stacks and libraries Full of manuscripts, still waiting To be read, or waiting, till Waiting fills a coffee cup. Michael and Mish- Short Mt. Sanctuary

What Holds The Poem Inside Is seeing all this, And in this moment Touching something inside Touching without threatening That most delicate balance. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s there to be seen, to Be drawn on in your dreams. There are clouds in the coffee now. Not discord, not concord, not lost chords but Misplaced ones. Clouds. What Chains The Poem In The Poet Also lashes jazz from the strings and screams. Sometimes the effect is giving me wings. And there are lands below Yes - I see Land -However (and I must preface myself here with 'However'): Poem is Bop Bop Yes It Is Too. Also is poem are distinctly Inside you now, humming, Chaining strings to fingers, bop bop. This poem is jazz too yes it is so Much. Bathing in the light the feel of it.

D e v il M ic h a e l

RFD Fall 200X #135

WHAT HOLDS THE POEM INSIDE, continued, page 3. Poem it be jazz too. That what is said is just like the strings Is what it is and claims no more. But to be or not to be Man it crazy! Poem he sweep in like fog (As outside these windows) And confronts itself with coffee And a chain of cigarettes. Eyes reflect in black windows To carry the question One point further: "WHY IS POET?" No more How Is Poem Can Be No, tonight we have others. Michael at Short Mt. Sanctuary

What - we all know 'Unsettled Personality' Lives in a tempo Of some type and/or Description and Wr i tes it d o w n . Thrives on exploring even the Darkest questions, knowing that Poem what is beneath bright and Shining as is star in sky. To follow nights, whose Illumination someday to Become as. FIight. Bop Bop I ask this question Thinking 'Worthless Shit What is this Worthless Shit'. Thinking everything baton between Poem is held in ropes Burning at the stakesCan not offer itself but Can not martyr itself. But waits simple to be invited. The Poem Politely. The Poem Waits Politely.

RFl) Fall 2008 #135

US .

Michael Reading

WHAT HOLDS THE POEM INSIDE, continued, page 4. My poem, he can not take a pretty face Just to serve you goodness and light. Poem reserves the right To bear fair witness. I say bop bop eye try bell nuff is stanch eonI say it louder and louder all ways. Because I believe Poem is for whom the bell tolls As guitar is a stair to climb, And I am willing to write my beliefs In the blood of my Ink I Think. I believe it enough to stand up and Noun like a verb what 1 believe. There is no moon tonight. I am inclined to think There are no stars. Fog quilted and dense And too very real.

Lee & Michael

Tonight from the bowing and scraping At your jazzed up behest, I went into exile. There was music for the journey, But No Words. Yet a call came up from the ether I saw No way to say in Poem What so much was sensed. No words.

Linda and Michael at Short Mt. Sanctuary

20 March 1983 for Franklin Abbott, W.C. Morton, and Dino Lorenzo on guitar

RH) Fall 2008 #135

"The A n im a ls do not have <^ovemments, Possibly because They do Not (Have Possessions as Men do, or Tools to "Defend them with. In Nature the Anlmflls Is ttls own possession and His Body Is At once his Life and His Tool for protecting It. Men consider -possessions, to be extensions of themselves so th a t no possession Is neutral B ut A sy mbol of Its owner, ÂŁj So strongly has this principal Been embraced th a t property Is often treated according to Law as being of egual value to Life itself.... whenever M an Downgrades the anim als or the <s;ods, He m in im izes the dim ensions of his own consciousness, since his existence lies so obviously between the them atic structure of those seem ing opposites. R aven, Jo u rn al E n try 3 / 1 6

RFD l all 2008 #135

The deep roots o f your moustash are silently breathing their crystal sprouts beneath the water---and they are brown and black and green and they are yours and when you speak words can be heard between your words and the moustash tickles my toes as it runs away to play -Raven

RFD Fall 2008 #135

Michael Mason and I met at my first faerie gathenng at Running Water. It was love at first sight, for both of us. W e laughed and sexed and got stoned and Michael gave me a four hour massage - bliss

Then the love letters started, delicious, seductive, obsessive words of love from Michael living the simple, visceral delights at Short Mountain to me and my stressful & complicated life in New York City, often two letters a day would show up in my mailbox.

I visited Michael at SMS that August, the week of the Harmonic Convergence and helped erect the stone obelisk that stood in the kitchen garden for many years, Michaels vision and lots of hot sweaty labor and there it reigned - until the last time I visited Short Mountain, I was alone with it, thinking about Michael and the dedication to me that he chiseled into the top when it came down.

Billy and Michael in PineBush, NY

Not long after that we arranged to meet in Washington DC for a large gay rights march and rally. Along with dozens of other same sex couples we got married - symbolically - in front of the IRS building. It was a glorious day. Michael; beautiful, passionate, explosive, living life to the fullest came back with me to NYC and so began our â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;marriedâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; life.

Our time together was dynamic - Michael intense and possessive - me struggling with pre-existing relationships and with starting my design business created a very fertile environment for his writing - Michael: chain smoking, guzzling coffee and writing feverishly into the night. There are dozens of poems from this time, of love, longing, anger, discovery and despair. And yes there were desperate arguments and torn photos and letters followed by tender reconciliation, redemption, intense sexing and blessed companionship. It was an epic love relationship for both of us.

Michael had HIV I bought Michael a teddy bear to keep him company during his hospital stays. He named him Timmy after his beloved tattered childhood bear, they were inseparable till one day his dad took him away and gave him a gun - He wept telling the story.

Michael died from toxoplasmosis - suddenly. I took his favorite clothes to the coroner: blue jeans and a cotton black watch plaid shirt with letters and tokens of love stuffed into the pockets.

Michael was buried in a cemetery on a mountaintop in North Carolina, where his people come from, his mother was Cherokee. It was not a long walk form the small chapel to the grave site out on the knoll - maybe 70 yards - Michaels sister Sheri told me later that the other pall bearers, brother, and uncles were not very happy that I decided to walk the coffin to the grave instead of driving it. It was that heavy.

After the funeral Michaelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mother Mary told me that Michael had told her that when she died and came to heaven he would be there at the window waving and jumping up and down - like a kid in a candy store.

I will carry the memory of those intense blue eyes, easy laugh, tender touch and his words of love with me all my days.

Billy Toth

RI D fall 2008 #135

Plainfield NJ

6-14-08

UNSOILED

The clothes go oround and round, Like all our lives, Billy. The driven air, the driven heat: This is a process like all The others. You turn to me with a multitude Of possibilities In you eyes. And I wonder what you’re Thinking.

Billy at Short Mountain Sanctuary

The dryer needs another quarter, Billy, Like our best defenses Need another way to barricade. Like silence piled on top of Silence, like troubled quiet Between us - like Questions converging: I get changing view s Of my blue jeans wrapped Around your flannel night shirt. I get a feel of What life can be like with you. Your Hanes Classics' and my ‘Fruit of the Loom s’ Touched and intertwining. The silver in your hair, The alm ost-black of mine., Your wool socks and mine m erely cotton.

Michael and Billy at Running W ater

The dryer keeps up a frantic pace, Billy, And I am seeing All our lives twisting and tumbling. All our lives grasping and groping For m eaning, together and apart. I am finding little islands Where I go to launder m yself And my shadowed heart. Michael and Billy at Short Mountain Sanctuary

The dryer stops and I am wrinkled And hardly can I breathe. I need folding, I need ironing: I need more starch, I do believe. I need tender touch, but just as much I need heavy duty action. I seek a melding Without seam or division. All my buttons sewn on tight, Holding my flaps closed; And finding the Other inside, Unsoiled.

Michael at Short Mountain Sanctuary

Michael, 25 October 1987

RH) Fall 2008 #135

MY PRAYER

TODAY

Keep him close, he's travelling Ton ight Through the world. And you know the world's unravelling Even as we speak. As he goes, keep him close, Until safely be returned From him present destination Be returned. My love a beacon when He closes eyes. My arms a fire When he be cold. Keep him safe, he's travelling, Ton i g h t , Aiming through the skies And seeing clouds out windows. I would have him see My e y e s .

Billy and Michael in NYC

KM ) Kail 2008 #135

Song f o r a ,fa n 1 go on sitting at the table, Watching you gather your books and go. I saw you re-enter the night. The chill of coming winter. I saw you forgetting all about me. I watched you go, and will you ever know How much I wanted to move with you tonight? Fut I won*t say a word, and since you haven't heard, You go on Looking for sweet dreams and Light. I studied your eyes, your nose, your chin And looked away when you looked back, Your beautiful eyesi They talked to me like sin! But your hands won't hold a man and I'll never know If you're warm in your sleep Or if you wake up slowly. Disappearing under street lights, Your particular walk. A body almost familiar Fut held apart. You are a man, and I am a man, And we can't change our parts. I just wanted To touch your heart. Michael Mason

RFD. Page 30, Spring 1980 with Poem by Mason and Drawing by Raven

RI D hall 200X #135

IT CAN'T C2HITE B-E TOLD HOW MUCH A HEART CAN HO UP UPON A MELODy RHNNINL} INSIDE WITHOUT A HAND TO TARE TO SHARE THE DELIGHT; i r s MELLOWNESS HIc^H AND DIM A ROyAL POSE AND A OKICR LITTLE L^RIN, WHERE THE HIDING IS DONE WITHIN Raven's Journal Entry

Raven (second from left) and friends at the Mountain, G SV

Ravenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s calling card

KID t ail 2008 #135

(C e re m o n y f o r th e d is p e r s a l o f R aven W o lf d a p e e r’s A * k es o f f M e d it a t io n R o c k , T ”he M o u n ta in

R av en w as o n e o f th e m ost c o u ra g e o u s p e o p le | have known. H e p u t himself on th e line o v er a n d o ver again, taking risks ag a in st p e o p le rea ctin g to his id e a s with bafflem ent, disag reem en t, disapproval, o r ridicule. M is bravery also sho w ed in th e way he to o k on his own dem ons, overcom ing th e inertia th a t k e e p s m ost o f us form growing. )t was w onderful to s e e R aven launching o ff into som e p ro je c t he believed in.

|t is rem arkable, | think, th a t e a c h o f us would p ro b ab ly re p o rt th a t we felt R av en w as to tally “p r e s e n t” with us when he was with us, an d th a t his a tte n tiv e n e ss a n d o p e n n e s s was a s affirming a s it is unusual. A n o th e r thing | know a b o u t R aven w as his g e n e ro sity o f spirit. M ven when he g o t into rows with p e o p le , y o u could tell he was d isa p p o in te d th a t it h ad com e to th a t. R av en w as not, a t h eart, a c o n te n tio u s p erso n : he really w as in te re ste d in w hat y o u h ad to say a b o u t his m ost p a s s io n a te beliefs, an d he always p re fe rre d a p ea ce fu l way o f d o in g things, f ie g ave p e o p le lo ts o f c h a n c e s a n d d id n ’t like tu rning his b ac k on any relationship, even when so m eo n e w asn ’t tre a tin g him well a t all. | loved th is man, we all did, an d | am g lad th a t he loved us b ack an d felt o u r love fo r him.

-excerpted from remarks made by Cal Cough at a Memorial Service for Raven Wolfdancer, Atlanta.

11/19/9*)

RH) J ail 2008 #135

Radical Faerie A n ce s to r s : Don't Let Them Be Forgotten! Do the rest of us know their names, faces, or that they even existed? T h e Fa e rie A n c e sto r List

wwYv.radfae.org/ancestors is the only comprehensive list of our beloved Faerie dead, but it’s far from complete. Without your help, their memories might be lost. Please take a moment to email fey-ancestors@pobox.com with the names and dates of Faeries you hold in your heart who’ ve passed over. Send photos if you have them. We’ll even scan your photographs for you! If there’s already a memorial Web page for your friend, we can link to it. S o m e o th e r w a y s y o u c a n help: A s k a r ou n d in y o u r c i r c l e o f f rie n d s for n a m e s an d pic tur e s H e lp u s cr e ate a prin te d v e r s i o n to k e e p at th e S a n c tu a r ie s M a k e o u r sit e prettier S h a r e in the u p d a te s and r e search B e a lo c a l rep in y o u r area to s c a n pic tur e s an d w a t c h fo r n a m e s H e lp bu il d a sit e w h e r e v is it o r s c a n e a s i ly u p lo a d p h o t o s fo r a r c h iv a l, and c a n p o st in fo r m a t io n an d r e c o l l e c t i o n s . 1 ( M u g w o r t ) started th e A n c e s t o r L is t in ’9 7 , g a t h e r in g up all th e lis ts I c o u l d fi nd from lo c a l fa e r ie s an d m e m o rial altars; it w e n t p u b li c in ’9 9 w it h 197 n a m e s . W e n o w list 3 0 5 fa erie s; 7 5 n a m e s h a v e a th u m b n a il p h o to , for t h o s e o f u s w h o ' r e n a m e - i m p a i r e d . A b o u t a third o f the p e o p l e h a v e n o in fo r m a t io n o th e r than a fa erie n a m e . I e s t i m a t e a n o th e r h u n dr e d are m i s s i n g fr om th e list a l t o gether. N o w an d th e n, 1 hear f r o m s o m e b o d y w h o d i s c o v e r e d w hat b e c a m e o f a l o n g - l o s t frien d b y s e a r c h i n g th e W e b for h is n a m e an d f i n d i n g it here. I ’d li k e to e x p a n d th e s it e to b e an a r ch iv e: p ic tu r e s, s t o ries, d o c u m e n t s , m e m o r i e s . Prints g e t lost or d a m a g e d ; t h e y c a n b e b a c k e d up and p a s s e d o n to future g e n e r a t io n s i f t h e y ' r e d i g i t i z e d an d g a t h e r e d up. D o i n g that w ill d e p e n d o n y o u r id e a s an d e n e r g y ; contact f e y a n c e s t o r s @ p o b o x . c o m . P.S. B e f o r e s c a n n i n g y o u r p ic tu r e s, p l e a s e s e e th e s u g g e s t i o n s o n th e sit e (or e m a i l u s) . S o m e fo r m a t s are m u c h better than oth e rs!

KM ) Fall 2008 #135

Occurrence in the Pan Meadow:

w a s t o t a l l y c a l m a> 1 f i x e d m y g a z e i n t o t h e e y e s o f t h i s \ o u n g m a n w h o w a s t r y i n g s o h a r d t o i n t i m i d a t e m e . It w a s a l m o s t a s

The Hate Crime that Didn't Happen

i f m y s p i r i t w a s g e t t i n g i n t o h i s m i n d , s e n d i n g m e s s a g e s in a

by Brian G oatboy Thornton

p rim a l c o d e . I d id not b lin k or flin c h

H e u p p ed the treats and

tone o f v o ic e . I 'v e h ad a few e x p e r i e n c e s o v e r the y e a r s w h e r e 1 h a v e

“ \ V K a r e g o i n g t o B l . ON N y o u a w a y ! ”

h a d m y l i f e t h r e a t e n e d . B e i n g o u t o f t h e c l o s e t in s e m i - r u r a l

“ N o O n e will e v e r F I N D the B O D Y ! ”

I n d i a n a in t h e 8 0 s w a s d a n g e r o u s e n o u g h . B y t h e t i m e 1 m o v e d

A t t h i s p o i n t 1 w a s s u r e I w a s g o i n g t o b e k i l l e d . W ith

to T e n n e s s e e in 1 9 9 0 , I h a d k n o w n o f m o r e g a y s t h a t w e r e b e a t

t h a t in m i n d , t h i s m a n ' s c o m m e n t s t r u c k m e a s t o t a l l y a b s u r d .

en to d e a th . M a th e w S h e p h e r d s t y l e , than h a d d ie d o f A I D S . A

O n c e 1 am free o f m y b o d y ... W hat the H E L L am I g o in g to

f e w y e a r s a g o 1 f o u n d m y s e l f in t h i s s i t u a t i o n w h i c h c o u l d h a v e

c a r e w h a t h a p p e n s to it!? 1 a l m o s t b r o k e o u t la u g h i n g , but 1 w a s

e n d e d in a s i m i l a r v e i n . It w a s a n e x p e r i e n c e o f p e r s o n a l s p i r i

t h e n o v e r w h e l m e d w i th a s e n s e o f p e a c e a n d s e r e n i t y th a t 1

tu al e m p o w e r m e n t , o f s t a n d i n g u p t o t h o s e w h o s o u g h t t o h a r m

h a v e n e v e r k n o w n in m y l i f e . 1 j u s t le t m y s e l f g o . I s a w m y s e l f

m e b u t at t h e s a m e t i m e , h u m b l i n g m y s e l f t o t h e f o r c e s th a t

on the e d g e o f a c l i f f r e a d y to d iv e in to the a b y s s . I felt

w e r e a b o u t to o v e r w h e l m m e .

e m b r a c e d b y a w a r m th a n d lig h t. 1 w a s t o t a lly w it h o u t fear

T h is ev en t h a p p en ed a

w r a p p e d in w h a t 1 c a n o n l y d e f i n e

few' y e a r s p a s t w h e n a c o m i c s t r i p p ie c e o f land w h ic h e n c o m p a s s e s

Love Thine Enemy. Bless Them that Curse VOL’. Y e t t h i s f o r c e d i d n o t q u e s t i o n

w h at is n o w k n o w n a s th e P an

or ju d g e m e , an d 1 did not q u e s t io n

M eadow .

o r j u d g e . A s it a c c e p t e d m e , 1

as th e C h r istia n id eal:

artist. J o k . h a d j u s t p u r c h a s e d a

It u s e d t o b e a p l a y

g r o u n d for all th e lo c a l r e d n e c k s .

a c c e p t e d it; U n c o n d i t i o n a l L o v e . I

A lm o st e v e r y w e e k e n d , d ru n k s on

w a s on the e d g e o f

A T V s, hu n ters, and te e n a g e r s

t o d i v e in . A l l m y m e n t a l c o n n e c

w o u ld c o m e up th ere and raise

tio n s w ith th is e x i s t e n c e felt as

h ell, s h o o t in g firea rm s and tra sh

thou gh th e y w ere sn a p p in g a w a y

the a b y ss , ready

in g t h e p l a c e . A f t e r h e b o u g h t t h e

lik e c a b le s on a c o lla p s in g s u s p e n

la n d , w e g a t e d t h e r o a d at h i s

sio n b rid g e.

p ro p erty lin e to d i s c o u r a g e th is

T h e m an w ith the gun y e lls:

a ctivity. T hat L abor D a y , as I w a s

“ S a y B Y E - B Y E to y e r b r a in s,

w o rk in g d o w n the h ills id e b eh in d

B O Y ! ” T h e g u y in f r o n t o f m e

my h o m e , I heard sev era l A T V s

yells: “ W E L L !? !? ”

racin g d o w n the road. T h e so u n d

c a lm ly w ith m y e y e s p ie r c in g

faded a w a y and I r e a liz e d the

d e e p ly in to h is, “ G o a h e a d . Yo u

I sa id v ery

gate m ig h t h a v e b e e n torn d o w n ,

k n o w w h a t ? I ’ m n o t e v e n g o i n g to

so I w e n t b a c k to the Pan

w a s te m y tim e b e in g a n g r y w ith

M e a d o w t o c h e c k it o u t , a n d s u r e

you.”

e n o u g h , it w a s .

A s I in sp e c te d

W h a t f o l l o w e d s e e m e d an

the d a m a g e , I h e a r d s o m e o n e

etern ity o f sile n c e . T h e han d s o f

yell: “ T H E R E ’ S T H A T S O N O F

the y o u n g m an trem b led . H e w a s

A B IT C H .”

s e a r c h i n g fo r m o r e w o r d s to i n v o k e

S e v e n g u y s c a m e run

fear, but th e r e w e r e n o n e to be

n in g o u t o f th e t h ic k e t s g e t t in g

fo u n d . I r e a liz e d th e n that th e y had

scra tch ed up b y b la c k b e r r y b u s h

l o s t t h e i r n e r v e , i f t h e y h a d a n y to

e s a s t h e y ra n t o w a r d m e . T h e y

b e g in w ith . W ith o u t fear or in t im i

w'ere a l l in t h e i r l a t e t e e n s / e a r l y

d a tio n th e ir h atred c o u ld 'n o t be fed .

tw en ties ex cep t on e m id d le-a g ed

H a d 1 t r i e d t o ru n a w a y o r p l e a d e d

guy. T h is to o k m e by su rp rise; I th o u g h t th e y had g o n e on

for m y life , I a m su re th e o u t c o m e o f this s to r y w o u ld h a v e

through. I w a s q u ic k ly su rro un d ed . A ll I had on w e r e cu to ffs

b e e n d i f f e r e n t , o r n e v e r p u t d o w n t o p a p e r at a l l .

and s a n d a l s . . . a l m o s t n a k e d . I j u s t s t o o d th ere lik e a s ta tu e. I

“ I ’ m s o r r y b u t t h i s is p r i v a t e l a n d n o w a n d y o u h a v e

h a d s e e n tw'o o f t h e s e g u y s b e f o r e , t h e o l d e r m a n a n d o n e o f t h e

to l e a v e , ” I sa id as I turned m y b ack on th em and w a lk e d aw a y .

b o y s. A c o u p le w e e k s ea rlier, 1 had fo u n d th e m th ere and 1

T h e y r e m a i n e d in p l a c e , f r o z e n a n d s i l e n t a s i f t i m e h a d

a s k e d t h e m to l e a v e . T h e y l e f t , b u t a s t h e y r o d e a w a y , t h e y

s t o p p e d as 1 b e g a n to w o n d e r i f th is w a s a d rea m or s o m e form

(lip p ed m e o ff.

o f test. W h e n I w a s out o f th e ir sig h t, th e y b e g a n a r g u in g

T h e y o u n g e r g u y w h o m I h a d s e e n b e f o r e w a s r i g h t in

a m o n g s t t h e m s e l v e s . At h o m e 1 d e b a t e d w ith m y s e l f w h e t h e r or

m y f a c e a n d s t a r t e d s h o u t i n g at m e a n d f l a i l i n g h i s a r m s a b o u t .

n o t t o c a l l t h e c o p s . I g o t a s fa r a s d i a l i n g 9 - , t h e n h u n g u p t h e

“ W e is s i c k o f y o u Y a n k e e s b u y i n ' u p a l l t h e l a n d a r o u n d h e r e ”

p h o n e . A few' m i n u t e s l a t e r 1 s a w t h e m l e a v e . . . a n d t h e y ’ v e

and h o w th e ir G r a n d - p a p p y s h u n te d h e r e e t c . . .

n e v e r c o m e b a c k . I ’ ll a l w a y s w o n d e r w h a t s o r t o f s t o r y w a s

th iz ed w ith th e m , but t h i s is o u r

sanctuary ,

I sort o f s y m p a

a b u ffer from

their

p a s s e d a r o u n d a n d h o w 1 m u s t h a v e a p p e a r e d to t h e m .

w o rld , a p la c e w h e r e 1 and m y kin ca n b e o u r s e l v e s w it h o u t

T h e m ost difficult part of the ord eal? T hough I w as

fear o f o r d i n a n c e s a n d j u d g m e n t a l n e i g h b o r s .

s p ir it u a lly e m p o w e r e d b y th e e x p e r i e n c e , r e c o n n e c t i n g all t h o s e

H e k e p t o n y e l l i n g at m e b u t I n e i t h e r r e a c t e d n o r

cables

in m y m i n d c a u s e d s o m e a n x i e t y , a n d I f o u n d m y s e l f

retain ed h is w o r d s . W h e n th e o ld e r m an p u lle d ou t a 4 4 p isto l,

d e a lin g w ith b o u t s o f d e p r e s s i o n for s o m e tim e . 1 w a s a ls o d i s

tim e b e c a m e t h r e e - d i m e n s i o n a l , m o v i n g to o fast for m e to o u t

a p p o i n t e d . T h e r e I w a s , all rea d y a n d p a c k e d to g o o n th is w o n

w a rd ly react to w h a t w a s u n f o ld in g aro u n d m e , y et m o v i n g so

d e r fu l n e w a d v e n t u r e , o n l y to find the flig h t i n d e f i n i t e l y c a n

s l o w i n w a r d l y , a s in a d r e a m . I d i d n o t a n d c o u l d n o t a c k n o w l

celed .

e d g e t h e p r e s e n c e o f t h e g u n , e v e n a s it t o u c h e d m y t e m p l e . I

RFD Fall 2008 #135

historic photo by Mark Skinner of RFD's arrival from Runing Water, NC to Short Mountain Sanctuary, TN late fall of 1988. Louise is in the in center of truck bed knitting a hat.

on SMS knoll, 1985

o C <yu/c/±'&' 7 fla ,y 16,

(re/1/t/e/ Cj 193a - c?*'"'* 10.

M ountain

Sanctuary,

servin g

th e

Board,

m akin g

the m o r n in g

m u f f i n s at g a t h e r i n g s , a n d s e l l i n g h er h a ts ( n o d o u b t w h a t s h e w i l l b e

ZOOS

b e s t r e m e m b e r e d fo r a n d m i s s e d fo r t h e m o s t ) a n d o r a n g e c h o c o l a t e

Ifo u r lives arc known by our stories, Louise had many - and good ones at that!

b r o w n i e s . F o r m o r e t han 15 y e a r s s h e a n d Sr. M i s h c o l l a b o r a t e d o n th e sp rin g

Born Louise Isabelle Melvin on May 16, 1932 in Waltham Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston. Anyone who heard her voice could guess she was a New Englander. In addition to her accent, another Boston trait that she never lost was her directness; no one got away with bullshit ting Louise — especially her friends! Louise spent her early years in Boston where she learned to knit. She met her first husband at one of Boston’s schools of music where she studied Jazz piano and singing. Louise also studied art at the Museum of Art in Boston and was an accom plished artist. She raised four children adopt ing her youngest. While in Boston Louise not only honed her skills as a musician, and artist but also as a social worker receiving awards and accolades for placing the most children in foster care and adoptive homes from the state of Massachusetts. She also worked in her beloved Boston developing her food service skills. In addition to all this she managed to transform her large Victorian home into a com mune in the 60's and keep a roof over her and her families’ heads.

and

fa ll

au ctio n s,

ra isin g

thousands

o f d ollars

for

the

S a n c t u a r y ’s b u i l d i n g f u n d a n d r e c e i v i n g a l i f e t i m e m e m b e r s h i p in r e c o g n i t i o n o f h er d e d i c a t i o n a n d s u p p o r t. W h i l e L o u i s e w a s u n a b le to a tte n d g a t h e r i n g s in h er last y e a r s s h e n o n e t h e l e s s m a i n t a i n e d c o n t a c t w i t h he r d e a r fa e r ie f r i e n d s an d relied

greatly

the

con tinu in g

support

K e i t h , S y l v a n an d M y r lin . In t h e s e la te r y e a r s s h e sh a r e d h e r f r i e n d s h i p an d t a le n ts to t h e b e n e f i t o f the S a in t C l a i r e

S e n i o r C e n te r .

She

e n j o y e d h er It alia n c o o k i n g fo r v a r i o u s f r ie n d s a n d o n c e a y e a r fe d t h e l o c a l A C L U .

L ou ise

a l s o s o l d s o m e o f h er k nit g o o d s at l o c a l cra ft f a ir e s, p a r t ic ip a t e d in a q u i l t i n g g r o u p run b y h e r d e a r fr ie n d , D o l o r e s , a n d t o o k r o a d trips w i t h B e r th a a n d o t h e r s e n i o r fr ie n d s . S h e s u p ported

the

th r ift

shops

and

around

M u r f r e e s b o r o w i t h h er r e g u la r p a t r o n a g e . S h e w a s p r e c c e d e d in d e a t h b y h e r d e a r f r ie n d s M a n f r e d , P a c i f i c a , L e s l i e a n d e s p e c i a l l y Adam .

L ou ise also

loved

h er M a i n e C o o n s ,

M a x , B e n to n and R o s ie and g o o d h o m e s h ave b e e n f o u n d for t h e m . A M e m o r i a l C e l e b r a t i o n o f L o u i s e ’s l i f e w i l l b e h e l d o n O c t 3 at S h o r t M o u n t a i n S a n c t u a r y d u r i n g th e fall g a t h e r i n g

L o u i s e had a l i f e o f s t r u g g l e a n d at t i m e s p o v e r t y bu t s h e in

a n d h er a s h e s a d d e d to the M e m o r i a l C i r c l e o n M e d i c i n e W h e e l R i d g e .

h er s t y l e w a s a b l e to c a r r y o n . S h e l i v e d in J ap an fo r a c o u p l e o f m o n t h s in the I 9 6 0 ’s a n d later s e n t t w o o f h e r c h i l d r e n . M a r c an d L u A n n , as e x c h a n g e s t u d e n t s th ere. S h e a l s o m a n a g e d to l i v e in N e w York C i t y a n d to w o r k f o r the G a y M e n ' s H e a l t h C r i s i s d u r in g s o m e o f the m ost intense o f the H I V /A I D S tim es.

At one point Louise married her third husband and it was his surname, Coggins, that most of us knew her by. After divorcing Paul, Louise spent the rest of her time with Chad. They lived in New York and in Key West until Chad’s death. While in Key West Louise pur sued her painting career and raised her youngest son. Reeve. After Chad’s death Louise did one of the things she enjoyed the most: she went to lunch with friends, mostly other widows, but she also craved the company of gay men. Invited to a mini-gathering in Key West in 19K4 she met the Radical Faeries, among them Agnes DeGarron and Manfred. It wasn’t long after that she moved to Murfreesboro. Louise worked in catering and as a hostess at a Chinese restaurant. In her Lovingly submittted by her most devoted friend Chael with an assist usual style Louise put her time, effort and energy into the Short from Richard Osborne and Sr. Soami. RFD I all 200X <#135

Prison

Page

pinching them. Aren’t they just grand! 1 remember answering m> girlfriends dare, and flashing them to truckers and other drivers, as we rode from Washington, D C. to Phillv one weekend (and back). 1 remember the first time a lover fucked them (what a great new sensation that was). 1 remember when they finally got big enough to suck them myself (that was addictive). 1 remember going topless on the beach and showing the passion marks that were put on them the night before. 1 love the weight of them; the way they jiggle or move just so. 1 love the attention they command and the constant reminder that l am a wo-man. Indeed, my cups runneth oxer!

byMyrlin

From a 22 yr old GW M inmate: "my mother ...she don i know I ’m this wav. / get picked on all the time ...... 4 lot o f people are trying to take advantage o f me because I m young and white. I have been raped in prison by 4 different ...g u vs / got my Jaw broke and had to have 5 stitches in my rectum " He writes seeking a pen friend.

As 1write this column things are changing with the Brothers Behind Bars Program and with the future of this Prison Page column. With the future transition of the magazine away from Short Mountain, it is unclear if this column will continue. As for Brothers Behind Bars, after 24 Issues, new blood is taking over the reins. Boomer and Free who live at Short Mountain Sanctuary are working with me to continue production of the list. 1 urge our readers to give them your encourage ment and support. In the meantime you may continue to request the list along with a suggested S3.00 to SI0.00 donation by writing BBB, PO Box 68, Liberty, TN 37095

DEATH - L I F E ’ S C O N S T A N T C O M P A N I O N

b x Da mi a n

Life seems to alw ays have a way of turning back, or even reversing itself. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, but. all along it’s always traveling, changing, and changing again, to the same ending. Death. The first of two submissions is from a Trans (M to F) individual about No matter how many avenues you travel down, the con a very exciting part of her transition. The second is quite germane to clusion is always: Death. the focus of this issue: Death. I don’t mean death in a negative way; 1 mean, we all have to meet this entity. No one can avoid this. Many people try to run “Tsunami” Cary I-Aver Iyn Old name: Desi \N allace-.Mitchell, from this being, try to hide. But how can you hide from something #51443-060 that is always there and is, in fact, part of your passage of exis PO Box 33 tence? One is bom, then . . . one is Dead. Terre Haute, IN 47808-0033 Death doesn't care who you are or how much money you Mv C up R un n eth Oxer accumulated in your brief passage through this thing, called life. I can clearly remember when they first began. So many Death doesn’t discriminate, 1doesn't care if you're Black or White, weeks had gone by with absolutely nothing....zilch, no activity. Red or Yellow or gay or any of the spectrum in between. Death Everyday I stood topless before the mirror....waiting, anticipating, doesn't care if you're The President of the United States, or the expecting the overnight miracle. It brought to mind the old ketchup commercial of the kid waiting so patiently to coat his beloved ham King of some great nation. To Death, we are all just one tiny speck in the universal burger with the flavoring of his choice. And so it was about 2 AM, rousing me from a deep flow', unquenching, unstoppable, always moving, always flexing, sleep....First like a sharp little pain, then a constant tingling sensa always changing, but never stopping to accommodate a single soul. tion in both nipples. Wait, wasn’t this what my girlfriends had told Many people have claimed to have cheated death. But me to expect, some “nipple discomfort” really, no one cheats death. Many say that they court death. How first? I sprang from my bed to my vani do you court the inevitable, the ending part of the fabric of time? ty mirror, tearing my camisole open to But then we all are close to death. It’s the never wavering see my chest, turning my vanity lights up companion, one we don’t always see or hear. But know, in every as high as they go....Yes! Without a fiber of your being Death will be there, regardless of what path you doubt, my aveolae were now nearly twice chose to follow. the size they used to be....(when was Death has no opinion. Death has no conscience. Death that, just yesterday?) And, oh yes, there was certainly some growth, not much, has no words. The only mission is to meet you at the end of the and probably not anything anyone else road, no matter how short or long your path through life is. would notice, but I sure did, yes!! They Yes, w'e all will die but the challenge is to make things were finally starting to come in. Over the interesting for the short time we are here. So why fret the entity of next 6-8 months. I was acting like what 1 Death? Just do your thing, no matter what it may be and go into thought a young girl who reaches puber Death’s embrace trusting that you put the best effort you could for ty must go through. And yes, they just ward. Future travelers will see and know that the story of life kept growing. Oh did they grow. I mar veled at the graduating process; A-cup, always has the same ending but the varied ways we all live makes B-cup, and finally a year later, 1 had for interesting stories. I wish you all interesting lives and peaceful deaths. topped off at a nice rounded 36C. Other things had happened to a Da ml a n / J a mc s M Mc Gi l t on #318- 152, K8-68. lesser degree, but they were most wel PO Box 45699, l.ucasville, OH 45699 comed too: I had developed hips and buttocks, loss of body hair, higher pitched voice, etc. Even emotionally, I felt more....well feminine. But the greatest thing was having them. I remember the People to meet when first summer I took them out in a tube top halter. Yes!! I remember you request List 135; the first time a guy who was riding by as I strolled slowed dow'n and hollered out of his car window, “nice rack.” I swear it was a good thing 1 was tucked, cause his small compliment aroused me and Jermaine nearly threw me off step in my stilettos. Collins Enrique Oh, and I remember all the nights and days, in front of the Hernandez mirror. Topless....Lifting them, tweaking them, massaging them, 47

RFD Fail 2008 #135

Porn,RFD,&Me by middle When I got word that RFD was going to run full-page (pssst’bareback’!) porn ads, my gut response was ’Cancel my subscription!’ -for about a minute that is. Then I thought, ’I'll Just cut those pages out.’ Nah -that felt wrong and strangely violent. A pull-out section? No. I don't want RFD to be like the gaynstream rags that do that. And that’s the point. It's such a tired plot: the advertiser with cash wins regardless of stylistic, political, or ideological conflict. I’ve been HIV positive for 22 years and faeries and gatherings are essential parts of wellness for me. I took the name middle in part because I live in between. As an educator and activist, I exist between western and alternative medicine, individuals and institutions, drug companies and AIDS denialists. I'm all about liberty, choice, and exuberant sex. I have nothing but support for those who make an informed choice to have what my activist friend reminds me is natural sex. Still, I feel a negative visceral response to the promotion of so-called bareback media.

Clearly condoms present barriers that have nothing to do with preference for some guys and we undoubtedly need alternatives. I'm similarly averse to analogous virtual cruise joints and media. I avoid and strive to disrupt these ’denial zones’ because they betray our humanity and disrespect the legacy of those who've fought for sexual freedom and wellness as well as HIV/AIDS treatment, research and prevention. I'm repelled when terms like bareback, pre-condom, and raw are used to brand, commodify, and attach a premium to risk. There's a human impact I've encountered first-hand -men and boys who feel their willingness is a commodity to be traded against their perceived shortcomings: age, ability, cock size, weight, femininity, HIV status. Where the vulnerable or clueless pursue fantasies fueled by lamorization of risk with ittle or no brotherly support, unhappy results range from name -calling to seroconversions, addiction, and worse.

As it turns out, visually the ads haven't bothered me as much as I’d feared. Chris T. Ramblin's essay in issue 133 freaked me out, though. ’Product placement,’ I thought. ■Conveniently on the opposing page splashed with big ass cover photos. Blech!" I read the review. The gushing praise made me uncomfortable but I liked some of what Chris had to say. I talked to him and our dear editor and don’t think their intentions were along those lines. So, I checked out the advertiser's website and watched most of two DVD sets. Although I got it up and stroked it off, the condomless sex and tops rubbing their jizz into the bottoms’ holes added nothing to my experience. I ’d have enjoyed the fucking equally had condoms been used.

I commend the director for using hot men, including those who don't necessarily fit stereotypes of perfection. I felt a twinge of recognition at the sight of gray hair, lipoatrophy (fat loss due to HIV/meds) and the infamous Viagra flush. In the end I found them relatively boring. Although some of the unedited bonus footage is a little better, it's too specific for my taste. The endless close-ups are impressively lit and cleanly shot -so much so they're clinical (welcome to the howto-transmit-STDs HD channel.) Were it ethical for scientists to deliberately expose humans to HIV like vaccine researchers ’challenge" primates with SIV & SHIV, this would be a strategic way to do it. I prefer a whisper of a story line and some sign of non-penile connection. I saw that spark only once or twice in several hours' worth of footage. The action is sufficiently hot, but I kept wanting the camera to zoom out from decapitating/ amputating cropped shots to include full bodies and faces. In one sequence, the close-up angle, the bodies, and the cocks were all so consistent that it might as well have been a loop. . Ik. It's anal mastur bation with cloned living dildos (hot, right?) Since our advertiser appears to deal exclusively in ’risk porn,’ and since I encountered no discussion of risk or health, the DVDs and site fall into my ’denial zone* category.

I believe in communal health so I don't like denial. I play well (lube in one sock, condoms I still love and need RFD. I the other) in scenes where some won't cancel, mutilate, or or even most folks aren't using otherwise disrespect it. condoms as long as other Meanwhile, my non-sexual choices are facilitated and fantasy is an RFD with no ads. respected. But if condoms are It doesn't impress me that the totally absent or hard to find, campany hires poz men and if there is no evidence (pos faeries (so do Burger King and ters, literature, something) General Motors.) That won’t that awareness is a priority help keep RFD alive, but the ad for the establishment, I seek revenue will. For now... cash alternatives. talks and moral navel-gazing walks.V I can count on my fingers yoo- WI//-QOQ. . ’ ■ ' w l t t l t j times lin o s JL ’ve VO fucked IU C K .6 U or 0 the I been fucked au naturel since ***rh* * ^ «* 1-*"1' ni i i 11 i YiW YxmJi rrufh w o r t h m U L , — m *lrc*xj y . I got my results in '87. = 2 3 on- * V Call me a freak, but on ,T * 7 ^ 1 ' ’""' ° lUm du"‘p or 0 horrb» ‘‘ \ of •* » barrtH M konhr t t y r r a / l y ^ ^ ^ ' e r . ' ^ h . «■ ^ ' those occasions I found it r"m '«St r ^ r 't% h .. Y POrn w m ir u i't t-«..... ___ r .r*xB *ov. no little more and sometimes 00r-1/7Hoof W ho a m I to w a r . less pleasurable than sex with 6 ’on. boii^ sr,oi condoms.

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tr>« n u m b er of new Hiv n fectio n s o v e r th e n e x t 1C

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